The Mummy: Revenge of the Scorned
by Anya2
Summary: Set eight months after the events of the first film. Greed, a lust for power and knowledge of Ancient Egyptian magic lead our friends in a race against a ruthless business man to stop him ruling the world.
1. His Evelyn

Authors Note: After more than a year on hiatus I'm still surprised when I get reviews for this story and even emails from people who want me to finish it. I'm very flattered and have been suitably guilt tripped into carrying on. So - for the literally ones of you who said you couldn't live without knowing what happens - here is the story anew, heavy revisions included and chopped into easy digestible pieces (chapters, to use the technical term). Look out for forth coming chapters!  
  
The Mummy: Revenge of the Scorned  
  
Part One  
  
Artefacts and boxes were scattered everywhere in the cold stone rooms and corridors that he travelled through. Trophies and coins were on tables, half unpacked statues were peaking out of crates, giving but a glimpse of their overall wonder. Jewels sparkled in the flickering lamp light so that they winked invitingly out from the piles of gold in which they nested. And not too far away from these precious beauties were their former owners - lifeless, desiccated corpses that lay in their coffins. Thousands of years old and yet still they watched him as he passed. Stared through him it seemed, seeing things he couldn't possibly imagine. Or maybe he could but just didn't want to.  
  
O'Connell smiled slightly at himself. Few years ago he would have laughed at such superstitious bull. But that was before he had joined the foreign legion and gone to Hamunaptra in search of fortune and glory. Now he could never look upon these things as only the dried husks of once-humans. They were a threat he had to assessed. He was just paranoid, he guessed.  
  
Near death experiences with three thousand year old corpses could make a man that way.  
  
The Museum of Antiquities in Cairo was in chaos right now. A new tomb had been opened about twenty miles away, and the museum had been donated a great deal of the artefacts found. A plus point of having a patron on the expedition team, he imagined. The curator and his small staff were in the process of unpacking their new goods and putting them on display. O'Connell lost count of the number of times he was barged aside as busy workers came through carrying boxes or relics. Now he knew how the pinball in the machine felt. It took him ten minutes to find someone willing to stop and tell him where he might find the curator. The man apologised in broken English for their treatment of him, but apparently the findings were very exciting.  
  
Not that O'Connell cared much. Treasure was his thing, not artefacts. Not history. The present was more his kind of time. It wasn't like he'd come to the museum to sight see, either. Hell, he'd only been here once before and that wasn't exactly been a pleasant visit. He'd never even been here to see Evelyn until now.  
  
Going to the library as directed and finding the place seemingly empty, he headed for the curator's office by means of the signs on the wall. He knocked on the door smartly and a muffled voice from inside welcomed him in.  
  
He found the curator, Mr Charlton, standing behind his desk with his head inside another box of treasures. The man appeared nice enough, although O'Connell had never really met him but in passing. Evelyn had sung his praises though, saying they were lucky to get such an intelligent and pleasant man after the death of the previous curator.  
  
Charlton looked up, a bit perplexed and a little annoyed at the unexpected visitor, "Hello, Mr...?"  
  
He nodded as a greeting, "O'Connell".  
  
Recognition flashed across his features, "Oh, right. Miss Carnahan mentioned you".  
  
"She did?" he asked, wondering why he sounded so surprised at the fact. After all, they had been together for eight months now. Although half of that time he'd spent away from her in the desert. Not the best grounding for a long lasting relationship.  
  
Charlton nodded absently, pulling a small gold statue from the box and examining it, "Yes. Mostly when she was cross with you as I recall".  
  
"Oh", O'Connell replied flatly. He had nothing else to say. No defence at all. He hadn't really treated her very well recently. It was the reason for his visit.  
  
As if reading his thoughts and wanting to rub in his guilt, Charlton tutted, "You know she really is a charming girl. Very lovely. Perhaps a little too sweet for this world. And clumsy. Yes, very clumsy....but she....well, you haven't exactly been her Prince Charming, have you? At least, not from what I heard".  
  
"Well, as you said, you've only heard the bad stuff", O'Connell defended, his throat constricting. Obviously she'd let the whole matter of him saving her from becoming a human sacrifice slip by without a mention.  
  
Charlton waved his hand in a rather dismissive apology, "Yes, quite. Who am I to judge, hmm? 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' as the great man himself once said".  
  
When there was no reply he glanced up and saw the scowl set on O'Connell's face. Charlton coughed uncomfortably, "Er....was there something I can do for you?"  
  
"Yeah, I was wondering if I could see Evelyn. I can see you're busy, but this is kinda important. Do you know where she is?"  
  
Charlton nodded, seemingly surprised, "I know exactly where she is. London".  
  
His eyebrows raised, shocked, "London? England?" God, she really must be mad at him.  
  
Charlton picked up the box. "Yes".  
  
He headed smartly out the door and O'Connell stood in contemplation for a few moments before following him.  
  
"London?" he asked again, shadowing the little man as he bustled into the library.  
  
"Yes, Mr O'Connell", he put the box down and began pulling objects out, "I take it she didn't tell you". "Well....no". He had a pretty good idea why that was. She could be stubborn as hell sometimes and it seemed that being mad at him for four months wasn't beyond her capabilities.  
  
Charlton paused what he was doing and looked at him for a moment, feeling a little sympathy for the other man.  
  
"Hmm. Well, she and that brother of hers left for London about....oh, it must have been almost three months ago now".  
  
Okay. London. Not a camel ride away but reachable. He still had more than a fair amount of the money left from his share of their little surprise souvenirs of Hamunaptra. Certainly enough to pay for a boat ride to London. And enough to shower her with presents, meals and flowers, and all the other kinds of things that would get him back into Evelyn's good books. Once he'd apologised, of course.  
  
"Do you know exactly where I can find her? Did she say where she's staying?" he asked, already mentally planning his trip.  
  
Charlton stepped away from his work, finally giving the man his undivided attention. O'Connell had a feeling that that wasn't be a good sign.  
  
"I do, Mr O'Connell, but I don't really think it's a very good idea for you to go and see her".  
  
O'Connell sighed. It was nice that the guy cared about her, but it would be even nicer if he minded his own damn business.  
  
"Look, I appreciate the advice, but I have some things to say to her so could you please...".  
  
"She's engaged to be married".  
  
O'Connell paused, taking this in, for a moment feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach. In fact, from experience he could safely say that this felt a hell of a lot worse.  
  
He'd heard the words, but it was as if he didn't quite understand them, because after the initial shock he suddenly became horrible calm. He wanted to thump something or shout and scream. Do anything but stand here looking like they were having a casual chat about the weather. But he found himself unable to express any discernible emotion. Surprising for a man who'd just had his world fall down around his ears and land in a jumbled heap at his feet.  
  
Evie? His Evie with another guy?  
  
"To who?" he choked out, his voice cracking only slightly.  
  
"Nathan Hart. A very rich gentleman who owns a banking business in London. She met him when he came to visit the museum a few months back. He took an instant liking to her. Stayed in Cairo weeks longer than he intended to. When they got engaged he insisted that she went back to London with him. Her brother went to chaperone her until the wedding".  
  
O'Connell nodded, taking this in, "The wedding". The words somehow didn't seem to fit in his mouth right. But there again the whole idea of her being with someone else didn't fit in his brain right.  
  
Charlton, knowing there was nothing he could say to make the other man feel any better, tried to reassure him, "He's a very fine gentleman. I'm sure he'll take wonderful care of her".  
  
"I'm sure he will", he said, anger and bitterness beginning to work their way into his voice. They weren't great feelings and definitely not very constructive, but at least they were something rather than the nothing he had had moments ago.  
  
"So, perhaps you shouldn't go and see her, hmm?" the curator said gently, in an almost fatherly fashion.  
  
There was a small moment of silence. Charlton was right, of course. He'd hurt himself - maybe her fiancé too if he got the chance. And he certainly didn't want to see her draping herself over some other guy. Looking at someone else the way she used to look at him. He really shouldn't go and visit her if she was in love with another man.  
  
But who said she was in love?  
  
O'Connell looked up, "Can I have the address please?"  
  
Charlton held his gaze steadily for a moment, then sighed, realising things were now out of his control. He crossed over to the desk, "Just please don't tell her I gave it to you". 


	2. A Drink For Every Occasion

Part Two  
  
Jonathan looked at the bottle, then decided. Not that it was exactly really a hard decision. He poured himself another drink and threw it back before deliberately placing the bottle to one side, in a gesture of removal. He didn't intend to get drunk today because, for once, his existence actually had a purpose, breaking up the endless monotony of boredom that it had fallen into since he had arrived back in England.  
  
Initially he had looked forward to coming home. He hadn't been here in donkey's years and the change from the hum-drum of Egyptian life was welcome. And, when you were virtually penniless, Egypt became very hum-drum indeed.  
  
Evelyn had entrusted half the profits from his share of the treasure into a trust fund on his behalf, reasoning that he would have to have something to live on in his twilight years. And the rest of it? Well, that had pretty much gone the way of the dinosaurs. Drinking and gambling were expensive hobbies. Sometimes rewarding, sometimes fun, but always expensive. It was surprising how quickly a man could whiter away a small fortune in a tavern, kasbah, gentleman's club or public house. Evelyn had, as usual, found out and had been predictably very cross. Angry, even. She had made him promise that he would keep out of the bars from then on. And since the oath had been on her life he had no choice but to keep it. Unfortunately it had left his sole pastime as the vague interest he had in Egyptology.  
  
Technically, he supposed he could be called a scholar. He had had the appropriate training at least. The money spent on his education had been a reasonable sum, and his father and mother had tried to instil as much knowledge of the ancient civilisations into him as they could. And he had actually been interested in it as a boy. The stories of powerful kings, fantastic gods and fabulous treasures were a welcome change from the rigors of geometry and science.  
  
He smiled briefly as he remembered putting his all into it. He had learnt his hieroglyphic alphabet, knew his Ptah from his Thoth and could name the pharaohs in order and by dynasty. But the enthusiasm of youth had given way to the recklessness of adolescence, the charms of alcohol and particular games of chance had luring him in. While Evelyn had constantly worked at her studies, Jonathan had let them slip. Now he found that, while he had the basic knowledge and resources to work in the field, it was much harder than it should have been had he been proficient in his academic work. Unsurprisingly his interest had also taken the easy shift from 'history' to 'treasure', as was often the case with those who found themselves terminally in debt. After a few weeks attempted hard slog in Cairo with very little reward, Evelyn had announced her engagement and the opportunity had arisen to go to London and once again laze away his hours.  
  
So he had come here, full of hopes about the charms of decent society but had found himself sorely disappointed by the dullness of it all. London seemed simply pedestrian in comparison to the hustle of Cairo. There people darted and bustled, here they simply ambled or meandered. Nowhere was this more noticeable than in the drinking establishments, a subject which Jonathan considered himself to be an expert in. Unlike the bars in Cairo, the ones here lacked life. Men sat and talked about politics mainly, a subject Jonathan neither had the knowledge for or the interest in. Even the burden of work would have been a welcome distraction from another talk about the Prime Minister's foreign policies.  
  
After three straight weeks of inane chatter on subjects such as the state of the military if he went to a club, or weddings and dresses if he spent half an hour with Evie, desperation had driven him to the river front and the seedy little ale houses that littered the area. It was here that he found himself now, with a bottle of brandy, that would usually be at least half empty, but which he was attempting to keep screwed shut as much as possible. He didn't want to ruin the first vaguely interesting day in a long time by not remembering it the next morning.  
  
By nature though Jonathan was not a strong willed man and he soon gave in to the growing urge of temptation and poured himself another. If only to stop himself thinking about where he was. Despite the relief he often found here, he hated these London dock bars. Put him in a sleazy little kasbah any day. At least the drinkers there were honourable sleaze. They had strict codes of conduct, set laws.  
  
This place was just full of genuine classless low-lives. And he had been born a man of class.  
  
Jonathan had already decided that after Evie had married he would head back to Egypt. He didn't like the idea of leaving her. They'd never been apart since they were children and he would miss her terribly, in spite of her nagging. But he knew he had to go back. He belonged there, playing the English gentleman. The playboy scoundrel who everyone adored. Here, in London, he was just another drunken, lazy, toff. And he was damn well bored.  
  
He had just started to pour himself another drink, his resolve wavering yet again, when someone slammed down a bag beside him, making him jump and spill it onto his shoes.  
  
He cursed aloud, more for the insult of the wasted liquor than the wet shoes. Preparing to say similarly harsh words to the gentleman's face, he abruptly stopped when he saw who it was.  
  
"O'Connell!" he said with a smile, vigorously shaking the man's hand as his irritation was instantly forgotten, "How are you, old chap? Good to see you".  
  
O'Connell sat down beside him, placing his bag on the floor, his enthusiasm for the reunion not quite equalling that of the other man. Didn't mean he wasn't pleased to see him though. He may not always appear to be the biggest fan of Evelyn's scoundrel brother, but he certainly didn't dislike him. Deep down he had a feeling Jonathan was a good man, he just tended to do some rather stupid things.  
  
"I'm fine, thanks, Jonathan. And you?"  
  
He nodded, "Oh surviving, surviving. Itching to get back out on the treasure trail as soon as possible though".  
  
"You're still looking?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, amazed that he would want to go anywhere near ancient tombs again after their adventures.  
  
"As always, my friend, as always", Jonathan replied, tipping the bottle in O'Connell's direction.  
  
The American nodded, accepting the offer. After the journey here, spending days with just his own dour thoughts for entertainment, a good drink was a welcome friend. And say what you want about the man, he did have a fine taste in spirits.  
  
"Thanks again for meeting me", he said as Jonathan poured a drink for both of them.  
  
Jonathan shook his head, "No trouble. Wasn't exactly doing much here anyway. I'll be glad to get back to the Cairo riff raff".  
  
O'Connell smiled ruefully, "Where you belong, eh?"  
  
Jonathan handed him a drink, "Precisely". He held it up in a toast, "To old friends and ancient adventures, yes?"  
  
O'Connell held up his glass, "Old friends and ancient adventures".  
  
They clinked glasses and threw back the drinks.  
  
Jonathan sat a moment to let the drink settle, savouring its sharp taste. Then glanced down at O'Connell's bag. He guessed it contained all manner of guns and blades. In many ways the man qualified a consummate pessimist, always going anywhere prepared for the worst. Which, he reasoned, when you have a three thousand year old reanimated corpse after you, isn't a bad thing. It was safe to say if it wasn't for O'Connell's help, Imhotep would never have been defeated. And Evelyn would have died. Jonathan shuddered at the mere thought. He could be accused of being a liar, a cheat, a thief and many things besides, but never of not loving his baby sister.  
  
"Expecting trouble?" he asked, casually indicating the bag.  
  
He nodded, "With you and your sister? Yep".  
  
There was a small pause. O'Connell had brought up the topic they both knew would come.  
  
"How is Evelyn?" O'Connell asked eventually, his voice unnaturally quiet and unsure.  
  
Jonathan had been waiting for the question and he had practised the answer. He still felt uncomfortable though. He understood the whole thing must be terribly hard on the poor man - without a shadow of a doubt he loved Evelyn completely - but Jonathan was just not very good at giving condolences, his perpetual solution to any problem being a strong drink. A problem, he reasoned, was no longer a problem when you couldn't remember it.  
  
"She's fine", he said, "Very well. Just great". He paused, awkwardly, already having run out of things to say. Unfortunately that led him straight onto the one subject he perhaps should have breached just a little more gently.  
  
"She's looking forward to the wedding".  
  
O'Connell nodded, stiffly.  
  
"The wedding. Right".  
  
There was something introspective about his tone, betraying deeper thoughts.  
  
Jonathan felt terrible. His sister may be the proverbial bull-in-a-china- shop when it came to physical objects, but he could always be counted upon to surpassed her every time in the oral competition. Which was why he tried as hard as possible to stray away from any kind of delicate or tense situation. As he often reminded himself, 'You can't put your foot in your mouth when your mouth is shut'. Unfortunately he was about as good at listening to his own advice as he was at listen to other peoples'.  
  
There was another pause before the second expected question came.  
  
"What's he like?" O'Connell asked, starring into his drink as if it held the secrets of the world if only you looked hard enough, "This guy she's marrying - he okay?"  
  
He tried to say it blasé, as though he was just making conversation. That he really didn't care. That the thought of losing her to someone else wasn't really tearing him up inside.  
  
Jonathan nodded, appearing positive.  
  
"He's great. He's a....great guy. He's really....", he trailed off, his act faltering and starting to look pained.  
  
"Great?" O'Connell offered.  
  
Jonathan slammed the bottle down on the bar, "No he is not, damn it. He's a stuck up idiot. She doesn't love him and he doesn't love her. He treats her like an ornament and will change her into a prissy, boring little housewife within a month".  
  
O'Connell looked at him, slightly taken back by the outburst.  
  
"Oh", was all he could reasonably find to say.  
  
Jonathan shook his head, "I just don't like the man".  
  
"Obviously".  
  
"I mean, damn it, she was even better off with you".  
  
"Thanks", he frowned, pleased, if a little offended. That quickly faded though, and the fragile spring of hope bubbled up inside him, like an elixir bringing his broken heart back to life. Jonathan said she didn't love this guy. If he was right, that left O'Connell with just the smallest possibility that she may still care. That there may still be a chance. And there was nothing quite like clutching at the wispy threads of hope to raise a man's spirits.  
  
"Have you told her what you think?"  
  
"Of course I have", Jonathan said bitterly, "But you know how stubborn she is? Do you think she listened to me?"  
  
"No".  
  
"I'm just her brother. Her drunken, lazy, good-for-nothing brother, at that. She just says I'm being over protective". He shook his head in disgust, "And maybe she's right. But what brother in his right mind would want his baby sister marrying a complete moron?"  
  
O'Connell nodded sympathetically.  
  
"Do you have a sister, O'Connell?"  
  
He shook his head, "I am my family photo".  
  
Jonathan looked surprised for a moment, perhaps even a little sorry for him. Then he got back on his high horse.  
  
"I've asked Evie if she should perhaps postpone the wedding a while, make sure that she's made the right decision, but she is adamant that it will go ahead in two months".  
  
O'Connell shrugged with forced casualness, "Maybe I should talk to her...Give an outsider's view".  
  
Jonathan looked at him and smiled. He knew that getting this man involved in Evie's life again could only be a good idea. He nodded, with a knowing look in his eyes, "Yes. Maybe you can make a difference where I can't". 


	3. Seti's Treasures

Part Three  
  
She lead him into another large room, it's decor a traditional Egyptian style. It was lit by old oil lamps, giving the room a creepier, more tomb like feel. And she should know, she'd been in a few.  
  
It was all for effect of course. To bring in the customers.  
  
This room was the newest in the exhibition and not yet open to the public. She had decided to show him round regardless however, this being a private tour. Mainly because she wanted to show it off, it having being her own work. The section devoted to Egyptian artefacts may not be as large as what she was used to at the Museum of Antiquities, but here she was given much more autonomy. No one bar the overseeing professor was as qualified as she was. If this work didn't impress the Bembridge scholars then nothing would.  
  
"And this room contains our collection of artefacts from the time of Pharaoh Seti the First", she began with enthusiasm, "He was one of the great rulers of the Ancient Era, said to be the richest Pharaoh of them all. Many of the treasures in this room were excavated from the upper ruins of Hamunuptra, the infamous City of The Dead. Although some of the site has been explored, much still remains undiscovered. I have heard that-".  
  
"Miss Carnahan", the gentleman interrupted, "I believe that you yourself have been to Hamunuptra. Before it became buried".  
  
Evelyn looked at him, a little alarmed, a little suspicious. She had been working at the University museum for a month now and she had met some unusual and rather eccentric characters, but nothing like this gentleman.  
  
Mr Stephen Carver was tall and slim, greying slightly, but with a suave elegance. He carried a walking cane, but this seemed more for effect than any actual aliment, for she'd never seen his use it other than to poke at things and twirl it around out of what was probably habit. He was a charming and intelligent man, who spoke to her as though he respected her and her knowledge. He was dressed very well, the perfect appearance of a wealthy benefactor. Indeed, the museum itself had seen some of that wealth in the form of a large donation that he had made, prompting the board to invite him for a private tour.  
  
He seemed the perfect gentleman.  
  
But there was something about him that Evelyn didn't trust. That she was wary of. Her suspicions were entirely unfounded, of course, but a gut reaction was for some reason warning her to be on her guard. Which was why she was hesitant in answering his question. Hamunaptra was essentially a place of evil and evil deeds. Suspicious gentleman asking her seemingly innocent question about the place made her cautious.  
  
She nodded uncertainly, "I was at the city, yes, Mr Carver".  
  
He bobbed his head absently as he wandered along, looking in the glass cases, "Any particular reason why you were there?"  
  
She smiled pleasantly, her fears erased by the pleasure of talking on a subject that she felt a great affection for.  
  
"Well, it was a site of great interest", said began with her accustomed enthusiasm, "Nobody had been there for thousands of years. It was my opportunity to get some experience in the field. To further my career".  
  
"You weren't treasure seeking then?" he asked with a casual wave of his hand.  
  
"No!" she said, offended by the notion that he would think such a thing, "I am a historian Mr Carver, not...not a...a common grave robber!"  
  
Carver smiled at her reaction. He liked the passion and conviction in this woman. It made her different from the ladies he usual conversed with in London society. It made her worth talking to.  
  
"I didn't think you were, Miss Carnahan. I was simply trying to imply that I heard you went there in search of the Book of Amun-Ra".  
  
Again she was a little startled by his knowledge, but this was over ridden by her shame at her outburst.  
  
"Well....yes I was", she said quietly, before hurriedly adding, "But it wasn't because of its monetary value, I assure you. It's what you might call my life's pursuit. It's what got me interested in Egyptology in the-".  
  
"Yes, a fascinating story, isn't it?" he interrupted, peering critically at an elaborate golden motif through glasses that perched precariously on the end of his nose. He took a few moments to study it careful before standing up straight to address her.  
  
"Tell me, Miss Carnahan, did you find the book?"  
  
She held his gaze for a moment, trying to decide what to tell him. She wouldn't mention anything about the curse and Imhotep of course. After their adventure she had learned very quickly that that was a story best kept amongst themselves if she wanted to avoid strange looks and whispers about her mental health.  
  
She inwardly shrugged, deciding she had no reason to think him untrustworthy, "I had it for a short time, yes, but it was lost when the city....".  
  
She paused, uncertain how to word things. No words seemed to be able to justice to the actual experience of running for her life as the city was pulled down from underneath them, threatening to swallow them with it.  
  
"Submerged?" he offered.  
  
Inadequate, of course, but she conceded to let him see it how he wanted to.  
  
"For want of a better word, yes".  
  
He peered back down into the case, "I think it's highly appropriate. It implies that perhaps the city is not lost after all", he looked up at her and smiled amiably, "And your book".  
  
She smiled back, "At least I found it". And, after all was said and done, that had been the greatest trophy of all from her time at Hamunaptra. For a short time that accolade had gone to gaining the love of a certain American, but, like most things in her life that weren't thousands of years old, that had turned out to be a disappointment.  
  
"Yes, you have that satisfaction", he said, bringing her swiftly back from the sands of the desert and rooting her attention onto her guest. He looked as though he was about to say something else when his gaze settled on a point behind her, and his eyes lit up.  
  
"But I see you claimed the second prize".  
  
She whirled round as he straightened up and headed over to the object of interest. She came beside him as he almost reverently laid his hands on the case containing the black Book of The Dead.  
  
"Amazing", he breathed, "I always wondered if it really existed", he looked at her, "Almost a more worthy prize, I would say".  
  
She nodded, "Perhaps".  
  
Truth be known, she hated having the book here. The treasures and artefacts reminded her of all what was good about the city. The history. What it told them about the ancient civilisation that had been there. The book, on the other hand, represented the bad. She had always known that while the Egyptians were far more civilised than their contemporaries, they could be just as brutal. The idea of being mummified alive filled her with more dread than anything. It was the substance of her worst childhood nightmares, the ones that would leave her crying and running into Jonathan's room for comfort. Remembering those nightmares made her understand why Imhotep had been far from pleased when he had awoken. It must have been a horrifying experience. The Book of The Dead, not withstanding the fact that it had awoken the priest and had supplied her with undoubtedly the most terrifying moments of her life, was a symbol of suffering and pain which Evelyn preferred not to be reminded of.  
  
The fact that it had got here also puzzled her. Apparently the excavators had spoken of seeing groups of dark robed men on horseback in the vicinity of the city, but they had never come into direct contact with them. It seemed that as long as there was no actual danger of the city being raised, the Med-Jai were content to allow a little exploration to take place. For a race who had spent millennia killing first and damning the questions, they had learnt tolerance rather well. Evelyn attributed this to Ardeth Bay. While undoubtedly a fanatic who would die for his cause, the man did seem to be blessed with more of a human influence than most of his kind. They could have killed them all when they attacked their camp, but had given them a chance to leave with their lives. And then, he had gone on what really should have been a suicidal diversion mission, giving Rick and Jonathan a chance to escape and save her. Although Jonathan said he rather thought that killing the creature was on the top of the warrior's list of importance at the time, with Evelyn's life coming as a distinct after thought.  
  
Despite their new found forbearance however, she was surprised that they had allowed the Book of The Dead to be removed from the relative safety of their watchful gaze. She supposed though that with the curse more or less disbanded and Imhotep properly dead, the book no longer posed a threat. There was no reason for them to prevent it leaving.  
  
She was also equally surprised that the book had been found at all. Surely it was in the cemetery right at the heart of the buried city, where Imhotep had been defeated. How it could possible have got so close to the surface was a mystery to her. Jonathan attributed it to the shifting of the sands and such like, but Evelyn was far more wary.  
  
Carver, she saw, was just as fascinated by the book as she had first been. He looked at it almost longing, pressing his nose to the glass.  
  
"It's beautiful", he whispered, before pausing a moment and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, "You don't think I might be able to look at it close up, do you?"  
  
He saw the immediate hesitation in her whole body. "Oh. Oh, I don't know", she said, shaking her head, "You see, Professor Newman would-".  
  
"Please?" he asked, "You don't know how much it would mean to me. You might call it my life's pursuit".  
  
Evelyn must have felt some empathy with the man, knowing what it had meant to her to have had the Book of Amun-Ra in her hands for just a few moments. It meant she had succeeded. And what harm could come from him simply having a little look?  
  
Immediately she was reminded of her own fateful words just before she unwittingly released the creature - 'No harm ever came from reading a book'. Dismissing the parallel as mere coincidence and nonsense, she was annoying taken back to yet more ominous words on her account - the strongly stated fact that she didn't believe in 'fairy-tales and hokum'. She had been wrong then, why not now? Sighing at the woeful realisation that nothing was quite so simple in her life anymore, she stubbornly pushed all her doubts aside. She refused to be ruled by paranoia.  
  
Fishing out the keys from around her neck she undid the latch on the case and opened it, struggling slightly to remove the heavy glass, but turning down his offer of help. She reached inside and carefully took the book out as though she was almost afraid of it. Not that she didn't have reason to be. He reverently took it and slowly opened the pages.  
  
"It's wonderful", he breathed after a moment, a childlike joy on his face that made her instantly know she had done the right thing. He nodded, obviously pleased at what he saw, "I can barely believe it. The Book of the Dead". He took it into a more well lit area so he could have a better look.  
  
"A living legend", he whispered in awe, "And an interesting read I expect". She nodded in agreement and he pointed to some of the symbols, "See here where it says-".  
  
"No!" she cried, slamming the heavy page quickly over, catching his fingers and making him drop it. He cursed and Evelyn gasped as she collected the book off of the floor, brushing it off carefully and checking it for breaks or scratches. She did not want to be responsible for injuring one of the most important artefacts in Egyptian history. That would not look good on her next application to the Bembridge scholars.  
  
Fortunately, the book appeared to be none the worse for its little accident. "Oh, thank goodness", she whispered.  
  
"It's okay, Mr Carver, the book is-".  
  
She turned to see the man grabbing and swinging his fingers in pain. "Oh", she said, guiltily, "Oh, I am sorry, Mr Carver, are you all right?"  
  
"Perfectly fine", he grimaced through gritted teeth, "Is there a problem, Miss Carnahan?"  
  
"Well, you must have heard the stories. You mustn't read aloud from the book".  
  
Carver looked at her, amused, the pain seemingly forgotten, "Miss Carnahan, you don't believe in all that ancient curses nonsense, do you? I mean, I know it is written that the book can raise the dead", he punctuated this with a flippant toss of his hand, "But it cannot possibly be true. It's a completely ridiculous notion".  
  
She nodded solemnly, "Still, best not to risk it, don't you think? There were some very powerful curses used in that time".  
  
"They are only words, my dear, only words".  
  
Evelyn shook her head. 'If only he had seen what happened the last time somebody said that', she thought, checking the book once again.  
  
"Please?" he implored, holding out his hands, "I promise I won't read it".  
  
She detected a patronising tone in his voice and suddenly she felt terribly embarrassed about what she had said. Well respected historians took no note of ancient curses and myths. They were stories, not facts. Being a woman, it was hard enough as it was to get any kind of recognition. If she carried on acting like this she'd never be taken seriously. And she'd never be able to follow in the footsteps of her father and mother and become a great explorer, the thing she wanted most in life.  
  
She was about to hand the book over when footsteps were heard coming down the corridor. She squealed quietly, "The professor!"  
  
Bustling past Carver without apologising for barging him, she placed the book hurriedly back on its stand and put the heavy case over the top. She pulled out her key chain and went to lock it, before realising the case was on the wrong way round. The latch was at the back. She panicked and tried to get the key round the back of the case, but it was too close to the wall. With the footsteps were getting closer and it being too late for her to lift the case and turn it round again, there was only one thing to do.  
  
"Excuse me", she said to Carver, who was looking at her in a bemused fashion, hurrying him back with her hand. Once he had moved, she sat down and manoeuvred herself backwards, under the case. Lying on the floor, half strangling herself with the chain, she finally managed to get it locked, the moment the footsteps entered the room.  
  
"Er...excuse me, sorry to bother you", she heard a voice say, as she lay there, wondering how she was going to explain what she was doing, "But I'm looking for my sister, Evelyn. You wouldn't happen to have seen-....oh, right, there she is. Evie, darling, what are you doing?"  
  
"Jonathan", she whispered, letting out a breath that was half relief and half exasperation. Her brother did have an annoying habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
  
She tried to wriggle her way back out again, but only got half way before she found her dress snagged on the corner of the stand.  
  
"Oh. Oh dear. Er....excuse me", she said, a little sheepishly, not wanting to flash her knickers at everyone, "Jonathan? Could you give me a hand, please? I'm a little stuck".  
  
She heard movement as somebody bent down, and saw a glimpse of a hand as it unsnagged her dress. Then two hands grabbed her and helped to pull her out. She stood up, a dishevelled mess, almost tripping over her own two feet. The hands steadied her, preventing her from stumbling to the floor.  
  
"Thank you, Jonathan", she said, sweeping the hair that had tumbled out of her bun away from her eyes, "I really-".  
  
That was when she saw who her rescuer was. Handsome, tanned features, well built, deep blue eyes. Perfect smile.  
  
"O'Connell", she said, part breathless pleasure, part shock and part annoyed.  
  
"Evelyn", he countered, just as uncertain.  
  
There was a moment between them that anyone could read.  
  
Then she realised with some embarrassment that he was still holding her hands. She retrieved them and turned away, straightening herself up.  
  
Jonathan patted Carver on the shoulders, "Mr O'Connell here is a friend of mine and Evie's from Cairo. He only got in today, so if you wouldn't mind I could show you around the rest of the place. I'm sure they have plenty to catch up on".  
  
Evelyn was about to protest when Carver held up a hand, "Don't worry. I'll be fine with your brother. You talk to your friend".  
  
The word 'friend' had enough emphasis on it so that all knew what he was implying about their relationship.  
  
"Thank you for the tour, Miss Carnahan. It was an absolute pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again". He tapped Jonathan with his stick, who looked slightly annoyed by the gesture, "Come along then, young fellow, I have a dinner engagement at six".  
  
Jonathan motioned for him to lead on and as they headed out the door, he smiled at Evelyn. She scowled back, and Jonathan visibly shrunk as he left the room.  
  
Evelyn and O'Connell stood there, looking at each other uncertainly for a few moments. From the look on her face he could tell that a) Jonathan had not told her he was coming, and b) this probably wasn't going to be the most pleasant of conversations they'd ever had.  
  
The realisation of this made him panic just slightly and, desperate for something to say, O'Connell motioned at the case. "The Book of The Dead, eh? I see they found it again".  
  
She moved over to it, away from him, and straightened up the display once more.  
  
"Yes, it was one of the few things they found when they tried to unbury the city". There was an unmistakable tenseness in her voice.  
  
"Did they manage to dig the old place up, in the end?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, trying to get her side-tracked into her interests so she'd forget her anger.  
  
"No", she said flatly.  
  
When nothing else was forthcoming and that line of conversation was lost, he glanced around the room, his gaze resting on something vaguely familiar.  
  
"See they got some of the treasure back too".  
  
She snorted a laugh, "Yes, well trust you to notice that. You always were far too interested in the money to see the true value of these pieces. A point you made clear on numerous occasions, if I remember correctly".  
  
"Hey", he said, springing to his own defence, "I never said-".  
  
"You didn't have to say anything, it was the way you acted".  
  
He controlled his reply with realisation that getting into an argument with her wouldn't be the best move in the world. He started to walk around, releasing some of his nervous tension, looking at the displays to keep himself from looking at her.  
  
"Nice place you have here", he said eventually.  
  
"Came here to sight-see, did you?" she asked, turning on him, her voice and gaze icy.  
  
"I came here to see you", he replied instantly, with an honesty that surprised even himself.  
  
She was also a little taken back by this he could tell, as her icy persona instantly melted a little. The annoyance smoothed from her kitten-soft features, and they almost returned to their calm normal.  
  
"Why don't we go into the office?" she suggested, "I wouldn't feel comfortable talking here". 


	4. Old and New

Part Four  
  
"How have you been?" O'Connell asked, sitting at the seat Evelyn had indicated.  
  
"Very well, and you?". Her tone was formal in the extreme and it seemed to put O'Connell immediately on his guard.  
  
He shrugged, "Still alive".  
  
"You can't complain then". She poured two shots from the brandy decanter on the sideboard and offered him a glass, "Drink?"  
  
He shook his head, a little surprised, "No thanks".  
  
She nodded, tipped back one drink and put the other glass down. There was only a small pause before she promptly turned back, picked it up and downed the contents of the second, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. O'Connell looked at her with an eyebrow raised in curiosity, but said nothing. Only thought, not for the first time, what an amazing woman she was. He'd never met anyone like her. And he wasn't about to give her up to some snotty nosed, old school boy. Not without at fight, at least.  
  
"Why did you come here?" she asked, the drink having given her new found courage, "I take it you haven't developed a sudden interest in Egyptology".  
  
"I came here to see you", O'Connell said without hesitation, wasting no time, "We should talk".  
  
"Oh I think we said all we needed to say at Giza port", she replied sharply.  
  
"Evelyn-".  
  
"Don't you 'Evelyn' me", she said, getting as angry as her nature allowed, "I told you that if you went out there without me, not to expect to find me there when you came back".  
  
He knew that. He remembered the words all too painfully well. He just hadn't realised that she really meant it. As he had sailed off down the Nile with those scientist guys who had offered him good money to show them to Hamunaptra, he had firmly believed that it was the fact that she wasn't allowed to come and do some more research that was bugging her, not the fact that he was, as she would put it, mollycoddling her. And even if he had realised, nothing on earth could make him take her. Going back a place you had almost died at could not be healthy for your state of mind. Jonathan had agreed as much when O'Connell had expressed his concerns to him, although he doubted the man had ever had admitted as much to his sister. She was stubborn and wilfully independent at times, and the thought that she needed looking after was not welcome to her.  
  
If he was honest with himself, the very reason he had gone was exactly the same one which meant he wouldn't let her go. He'd nearly died there too. Part of him was afraid to go back and he couldn't live like that. He had to face his fears. But he hadn't been able to tell Evelyn that. He still couldn't bring himself to admit it now.  
  
"I was trying to protect you, Evelyn!", he justified, letting out an exasperated sigh. They'd had this argument too many times.  
  
As always she ignored his protests, determined to continue with her rant.  
  
"I told you that you cannot treat me like...like a....like some kind of a....like you do! Badly!" she stuttered, lost for an analogy.  
  
"I know what you said", he replied, looking straight at her, very hurt by her words and showing it through sarcastic anger, "But I didn't expect to come back to hear you're engaged and in a different country. I know you wanted to make a point, but that's a bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"  
  
"It is none of your business", she said, almost sullenly.  
  
"What? We have an argument, you run off with the next guy that shows an interest and you expect me not to care? Not to want some answers? An explanation? A card saying 'Hey, O'Connell. How was your trip? PS I'm marrying someone else!'"  
  
She looked mightily offended, "I did not run off with 'the next guy'. He is in fact a very charming gentleman who I like very much and I would thank you to keep your nose out of it". She was pacing now, like an angry school teacher in front of a disobedient pupil.  
  
"So that's it?" he asked, standing up, all his good intentions about keeping this calm flying out of the window with his temper. He was hurt, god damn it, and he was going to show it.  
  
"Is that all you can say?" he challenged, "'Thanks for the good time, O'Connell, but I got a better offer'!"  
  
She scowled, "Oh, don't be absurd. It was nothing like that!"  
  
"Sure it wasn't", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're simply saying that you never gave a damn about me".  
  
"I did not say that", she said in a sing-song impatient tone.  
  
"Well, that's how it feels!", he said, his voice raising even louder, more with frustration and hurt than anger now.  
  
"If you cared about me at all then I don't see how you can go and get yourself engaged after I'd been gone for a month!"  
  
She squared up to him, obviously not the slightest bit intimidated by his much larger stature. "I gave you a choice and you made your bed, now you sleep in it!"  
  
His expression was one of disgust, "What, while you sleep in someone else's?"  
  
She slapped him across the face. Hard.  
  
He looked at her, surprised, and touched his cheek gingerly. It hurt. Stung like only the slap of a scorned woman could. Even the smallest of women could land a painful blow is she was pushed far enough. The throbbing in his cheek right now told him he'd pushed her way too far. But he knew he deserved it. He couldn't believe what he had just said. It was cheap and insulting and cruel. And it was hurtful. Shame washed through every part of him.  
  
Evelyn gasped and put her hands to mouth, turning away. She hadn't struck another person in years. The last time, she and Jonathan had been children, and squabbling as siblings sometimes do. He had shoved her and she had lashed out. Jonathan had gained a stern talk from their father about how he should never strike any woman, but particularly not his small sister. Evelyn's mother had told her that hitting was a most unladylike thing to do. Evelyn who, despite her clumsiness and sometimes awkward gait, aspired to her mother's gracefulness and femininity, had heeded the words well. That O'Connell had managed to make her forget herself completely, with words she never thought to hear coming from his mouth, upset her more than she liked.  
  
"I think you should leave", she said, her voice emotionally strung.  
  
He lowered his head, "I'm sorry, Evelyn. I didn't mean-".  
  
"Please, Rick", she turned round and her eyes were moistened with tears he realised that he'd never seen there before, "Please, for my sake. For my marriage. Just go".  
  
He strode over to her, put his hands tightly on her arms, the way he had the first time they had kissed.  
  
"Evelyn....", he shook his head sadly, "I can't just leave. I've come too far not to tell you that I love you".  
  
There was a knock at the door, it burst open and a tall, dark haired, handsome man, dressed in an expensive suit entered without waiting for a reply.  
  
"Evie!", he said holding out his arms, ignoring O'Connell and seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere of the room. He pushed the American aside and went straight to her, kissing her forehead, "Darling, how are you?" He tugged affectionately at the curls of her hair that were lying over her shoulder, "You are looking pretty today".  
  
Evelyn looked awkward, almost guilty. But it certainly wasn't because of anything she'd done. So it must have been what she had been thinking. O'Connell like that.  
  
"I thought you said you were coming to meet me for lunch", the gentleman continued, "I waited for an age and you didn't show up". His tone was so patronising that O'Connell wanted to just hit him. He didn't know how Evelyn could stand to be spoken to like that. But she just smiled pleasantly, her previous emotional display buried neatly away.  
  
"I'm sorry but I had some work to do".  
  
He looked at O'Connell, charming but suspicious, "I see".  
  
"Oh, no", she quickly corrected, "Museum work. Showing Mr Carver around. Remember? The man who made the donation?"  
  
"Of course", he said with a dismissive wave. He gave O'Connell the once over. He had the look of a man summing someone up for their merit as a threat. By the expression in his face, he didn't like what he saw in the American.  
  
"I take it this isn't him".  
  
"No. This is Mr O'Connell", she said as a way of introduction, "He's a friend of Jonathan and I. He just arrived in from Egypt today".  
  
O'Connell nodded, "And you must be Mr Hart", he looked at Evelyn and she blushed, a pale rose colour tinting her lightly tanned cheeks.  
  
Hart nodded, "I see she's told you about me".  
  
O'Connell shook his head, "I'd been away for a while. The curator in Cairo told me the.... wonderful news when I got back". His smiled was blatantly false.  
  
Hart mirrored his smile, "Must've been a bit of a shock, eh?"  
  
"I'll say", he said dryly, looking to Evelyn who was avoiding his gaze. Evidently her and O'Connell's relationship was unknown to Hart, and she was desperately trying to keep it that way.  
  
"Well, I know it was all very sudden", Hart continued, "But when I saw her, I just thought what a tragedy it was that one of the true treasures of Egypt was hidden away like that". He smiled at Evelyn and took her hand.  
  
"So you thought you'd bring her back here and put her on display?" asked O'Connell with false geniality.  
  
Evelyn glared at him.  
  
Hart didn't seem to notice the implications of the sentence. He just smiled, "Something like that. Well, it's nice to meet you", he turned back to Evelyn, "Now, darling, since you blew off lunch with me, why don't I take you out for an early dinner?"  
  
She shook her head, "Sorry, Nathan, but I couldn't possibly. I've just got so much to do. I mean, if we're to be ready for-".  
  
He raised his eyes skyward, "Another silly little display?"  
  
Evelyn looked adamant and a little annoyed. O'Connell could have cheered. For a moment there he thought this man had completely transformed her into the meek little girl she suddenly appeared to be. This sudden show of independence was very welcome indeed.  
  
"There is nothing 'silly' about it", she insisted, "It's a very important display, thank you".  
  
Hart smiled and brushed his hand across her cheek affectionately, "Of course it is. I'm sorry. I just don't see as much of you as I'd like".  
  
"This is very important to me", she said, still a little annoyed.  
  
"And you're extremely important to me", he countered, with a sickeningly sincere tone.  
  
She smiled, the dazzling one that made her whole face light up, and O'Connell's insides flip. He swallowed hard, controlling emotions that he was only just remembering. Ones that only occurred when he was around her.  
  
"Don't you work too hard now", Hart said, and planted a gentle kiss on her lips.  
  
O'Connell turned away.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow", Hart said, straightening his jacket. He nodded towards O'Connell, "It was nice to meet you. If you're here for a while, do feel free to come to the wedding. Any friend of Evelyn is welcome".  
  
"Thanks, but I won't be around for that", said O'Connell, beginning to really hate the man. And wasn't just because he was marrying the woman he loved.  
  
"Pity", he said, and left with a charming smile.  
  
When he had gone, Evelyn turned to see O'Connell looking at her a mixture of disbelief and annoyance on his face.  
  
"What?" she asked, defensively. 


	5. The Black Book of the Dead

Part Five  
  
O'Connell stood across the street and looked up at the museum. When he had left earlier that afternoon, after their argument and meeting her fiancé, he had decided that he'd go back to his hotel, pack his bags and leave. There was no future for him here.  
  
But then he'd sat and he'd thought.  
  
From the first moment that he saw her, he had considered her a very attracted woman, if a bit conservative. A bit proper. But then she had saved his life in that Cairo prison and gone on to bloom out in the desert. He saw a wonderful, adventurous, brave intelligent woman, hidden behind that shroud of an upbringing as a proper lady. Something about her spoke to something in him. He didn't realise how deeply he cared until she gave herself over to Imhotep in order to spare their lives. Horribly outnumbered, he would have fought to the death to save her.  
  
Because he had fallen in love with her.  
  
As he sat in his hotel room he remembered those feelings, and he knew he had never wanted anything so much as he wanted her.  
  
Which is why he returned now, to talk to her. He loved her and no matter what either of them did, that couldn't be changed. He just hoped her could convince her of that.  
  
Now, standing on the street watching a light moving around, he became very nervous. He knew that this was the moment of truth. Tonight she could reject him forever and ruin the rest of his life. But she could turn round and admit what he knew she still felt. It was that thought that kept him going.  
  
He saw a movement inside. A light being carried back through to what he knew was the 'Hamunaptra' room. As he watched, it stopped abruptly and disappeared. There was the sound of glass breaking. He frowned and quickened his pace.  
  
Then there was a scream.  
  
O'Connell began to run.  
  
**************************************************************************** *****  
  
Evelyn clipped through the string holding the box with a pen knife. She then placed it on the table and opened the box to peer inside.  
  
"Wonderful", she whispered to herself as she began taking the contents out and placing them on the bust that was sitting on the table too.  
  
The museum's new exhibition was going to be on Egyptian jewellery. This consignment of ladies trinkets had arrived earlier in the day, but Mr Carver's visit had left her no time to sort it out. Which was why she was forced to work late. Meaning she wasn't spending time with her fiancé, but instead she was working here on her own. And thinking about Rick O'Connell.  
  
Evelyn sighed, willing him to leave her thoughts, to make her life easier, but it obvious that he was there to stay.  
  
Yes, he was brave and charming and kind. And, to be honest, extremely handsome. But she was virtually a married woman and she shouldn't be having thoughts about-  
  
'No', she told herself firmly, 'Don't even think his name'.  
  
'Even if you do love him'.  
  
The realisation and the warm feelings that arose stunned her. She couldn't love him, she just couldn't.  
  
"I love Nathan...", she whispered to herself, repeating it like a mantra. As if saying it enough times would somehow make it come true.  
  
I love Nathan. I love Nathan. I love.......Rick".  
  
She sighed, resigned to the fact. Why couldn't that annoying, tactless, rough, infuriating, gorgeous, charming man just leave her alone? Didn't he know he was bad for her?  
  
For some reason her muddled brain chose this moment to come back into focus and she realised that for the last two minutes she had been putting every item of jewellery backwards on the bust of a lady's head.  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she scolded herself. She began to remove the items again placing them back on the table. Once she was finished, she went to look for a check list, to make sure that she got every piece back on again. Which made her realise she hadn't even made a check list.  
  
"Oh, Evelyn!" she scolded again, and bustled off of find a pen and a piece of paper, picking up an oil lamp to light her way through the dark corridors.  
  
"Yes, yes, yes, he's a very attractive man, but sheer....sheer physical longings are not the basis for guaranteed future happiness", she told herself firmly, "Nathan is a far better prospect".  
  
She sighed, realising how terribly logical she was trying to be about the whole thing, when it should be her heart showing her the right path. The problem was, that her heart was going to lead her into all sorts of difficulty, which she had no idea how to tackle.  
  
When Rick had left, she had found herself angrier than she ever could remember being. He could go out there and get swallowed in the sand as far as she cared. Then Nathan had arrived at the museum. He had been friendly and charming, and, more importantly, genuinely interested in the history of the collections, as oppose to Rick, whose curiosity had only spanned as far as how much they could sell them for. She didn't realise that Nathan's interest was also settled elsewhere though until he asked her out to dinner one night. She was certainly flattered by the attention of this handsome man, but had refused his offer. When he asked if he may know the reason for her refusal, she realised that it was not that she didn't want to, it was simply some misguided loyalty to her absent American that kept her from agreeing. Annoyed at herself, deciding that she owed him nothing and could do what she damn well pleased, she took back her refusal and had spent a very pleasant evening in the company of a charming gentleman. One pleasant evening somehow turned into another and another and another, until she found herself presented with a marriage proposal. And somehow, she agreed.  
  
When she had told Jonathan the news, he had hit the roof in a way she couldn't imagine possible. He went on and on about what a dreadful mistake she was making and how she shouldn't decide to spend the rest of her life with someone just because he was a good man. What about love and feelings? What about the heart? She had informed him crisply that she did love Nathan, very much and that he could either be pleased for her or he could leave her company for good. Seeing the hurt look on his face, she had instantly regretted giving him such an ultimatum. Later, in a gentler mood, she had told him that she understood that he was only looking out for her welfare, and knowing that he cared so much meant the world to her. That had put the smile back on his lips and he had grandly professed that if she was happy, he was happy, and that had been the end to it.  
  
The trouble was, as much as she hated to admit it, Jonathan was right. As hard as she tried, she could not love Nathan. She liked him. She liked him very much. She enjoyed his company and enjoyed how well he treated her. But she loved Rick. Even that terrible scene earlier had proved that. She could never imagine Nathan getting her that emotional. His presence could never make her feel so alive as the rough American did. It was a very difficult situation to find herself in.  
  
As she returned from the office and got closer to the room, a feeling of growing uneasiness crept upon her, pushing her other dilemma into the shadows of her mind. Of course, the place was always a little creepy. The artefacts and the bodies of their dead owners saw to that. But this feeling was entirely new to her. It was how she had felt when she had walked at gun point through the bowls of Hamunaptra, a prisoner of Imhotep. It was how Jonathan said he felt overtime he saw a beetle now. Apparently the scars in his hand and shoulder began to tingle at the mere sound of a scuttle.  
  
Some unconscious sense inside her was warning her to be on her guard. She slowed, frowning, sensing that something was wrong but not being able to figure out what.  
  
She stepped hesitantly inside the doorway and looked around.  
  
"Hello?" she asked, nervously, relieved to hear a sound rather than the eerie silence. It was like an undiscovered tomb.  
  
Evelyn felt something brush her sleeve and she jumped, dropping the lamp which smashed on the ground, plunging her surroundings into dark shadows. Turning to face her attacker, she felt incredibly sheepish when she realised it had only been a drape moving in a draft. Although in her disturbed state of mind, she supposed she could be forgiven for being a little jumpy. She smiled at her own stupidity and turned to go back into the room and finish her work.  
  
She found herself face to face with a dangerous looking man.  
  
She managed to let out a high pitched scream before he clamped a hand over her mouth and got her arm locked behind her back, leaving her helpless.  
  
"Please", he said, in a thick Egyptian accent, "Do not scream. I hate the sound and I would prefer you to be in silent terror. It is so much more becoming. Especially in young ladies. Now, I'm going to take my hand away. Bear in mind that if you scream again, I will break your arm, do you understand?"  
  
To emphasize this he tugged her arm up. Evelyn's eyes widened in fear and pain and she nodded wildly, with muffled sounds of agreement.  
  
He removed his hand.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice quivering.  
  
"The book".  
  
"The....The book? Book? What book?" she said rapidly.  
  
"The black Book of The Dead", he answered with forced gentleness.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid I don't know where-", she began before he yanked her arm up hard again, making her yelp with pain.  
  
"You're trying my patience", he said, in the same calm tone.  
  
She nodded, understanding that there was nothing she could do but co- operate. She pointed to the relevant case, "There".  
  
He dragged her, protesting, towards it. Turning her round, he pulled the chain from her neck and handed it to her.  
  
"Open it. Give me the book".  
  
She went to protest again, but thought wiser of it. A broken arm would not prevent her from doing what he wanted. There was, as she reminded herself, nothing she could do.  
  
But, there again, perhaps that wasn't true.  
  
Opening the case she put the lid to one side and lifted the book out. She went to hand it to him and he was only inches from snatching it when she slammed it shut, a triumphant smile on her face. Without the key he'd never get those locks open. Which would prevent him selling it to any buyer and stop any mischief he had planned from the incantations in there.  
  
His face went from disbelief to horror to anger in one smooth moment. Evelyn just decided that maybe that hadn't been such a good idea after all when he smacked her hard across the cheek, knocking her to the ground. The book flew out of her hands.  
  
She sat there in shock for a moment, touching her cheek, taking her hand away to reveal blood. When she looked back at him, now genuinely very afraid, she saw murder in his eyes.  
  
He said something in Arabic, but her dazed brain didn't have the capacity to translate. Not that she needed it though. He sounded very angry indeed.  
  
She tried to back up, but he reached out and pulled her to her feet by her hair.  
  
"Evelyn!  
  
They both turned to see O'Connell burst into the room, guns drawn, scouting for danger.  
  
He had his weapons pointing at the right target the moment that the target put a muscular arm around Evelyn's neck, gripping her so tight he was choking her.  
  
"I do not want any trouble", the thief said, looking steadily at O'Connell.  
  
"Yeah, well than maybe you're in the wrong line of business", O'Connell replied dangerously, cocking his guns while advancing on the man.  
  
"Put your guns down and I will let her go".  
  
He shook his head, "I don't think so".  
  
"Do you want to argue this out while she chokes to death?"  
  
O'Connell looked at Evelyn. As the man tightened his grip she began to go limp in his arms.  
  
O'Connell had no choice.  
  
"Okay", he said, slowly bending down and placing his guns on the floor, holding his hands up to prove he was unarmed.  
  
There were a few tense moments as the attacker and O'Connell both knew that as soon as he let her go O'Connell would go for his weapons.  
  
In one sudden, swift movement the thief virtually threw Evelyn at O'Connell, and they both fell to the ground in a heap. By the time O'Connell managed to reach for his weapons and stand the man was gone. And so was the book.  
  
He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and went and knelt down beside Evelyn who was still lying on the floor, dazed, coughing as she gratefully drew in lungful after lungful of sweet air.  
  
"Evie?" he asked gently as he helped her to sit up, "Are you okay? Evie?"  
  
She nodded, extremely unconvincingly as he brushed his hand tenderly across her cut and marked cheek. She winced a little and mewed softly in pain as he gently checked the rest of her over.  
  
Obviously she was quite battered and bruised.  
  
"I should get you home", he whispered.  
  
"Yes. In a minute", she said and laid her head on his shoulder. 'Even if it can never happen again', she thought, 'Just let me have this moment'.  
  
O'Connell wrapped his arms around her protectively and whispered comforting words in her ear, knowing that he wasn't going to give her up. 


	6. One Use

Part Six  
  
"And you have no idea who this man was?" asked Jonathan, pacing up and down. This had been his perpetual show of his concern since they had arrived back. Evelyn had point blankly rebuffed his fussing, insisting it was all nowhere near as bad as it appeared to be. Unconvinced, but knowing that arguing with his stubborn sister would only make him hoarse, he found that wearing his shoe leather thin over the length of the lounge was an easy alternative. Not comparable, but easy.  
  
"No", O'Connell replied, sitting in the armchair, a shotgun lying across his lap. Just in case.  
  
He'd taken Evelyn back to the reasonable apartment that she was renting with Jonathan. Courtesy of Hart's money, of course. Evelyn had gone straight to take a bath and relax a little, while Jonathan got agitated. O'Connell had decided to stay on sentry duty until he was sure she was safe. Which, after what had happened tonight, may take some convincing. God only knows what might have happened if he hadn't have shown.  
  
"Well, just thank heavens you were there", Jonathan said, mirroring his thoughts as he paced back the other way.  
  
"She shouldn't have been there on her own at night", he said, quietly, irritated by Jonathan's inability to stand still, but not wanting to show it. It was his own feelings of having somehow let her down by allowing that guy to escape that were really bugging him. Jonathan's pacing was somewhere to focus the anger on, but he knew how unfair it would be to actually vent it on the guy.  
  
"Well, they've never had a break in before", Jonathan reasoned, "It's coming to something when even our museums aren't safe from the damn thieves".  
  
O'Connell's mind deemed a museum full of priceless artefacts the prime candidate for a break in, but he said nothing. Again, it wasn't worth getting into an argument over.  
  
"I don't think he was a simple thief", he settled on, running a cloth over his gun barrel.  
  
The statement had the desired effect because Jonathan stopped moving, "What do you mean?" he asked with a frown.  
  
"Think about it", O'Connell said simply, "All the treasures, all the gold in there. Evelyn had just set up an exhibit of ancient jewellery. And he takes the book. Asks specifically for it".  
  
"So, you're saying he came there especially to get it?"  
  
"Exactly".  
  
"But why?"  
  
O'Connell looked grave, "There's only one use that book could have".  
  
Jonathan's face was blank for a moment before he realized what O'Connell was implying. Then a look of horror spread in replacement. 


	7. The Key

Part Seven  
  
O'Connell and Jonathan stayed at the museum the next day whilst Evelyn talked to Professor Newman, the police and Hart.  
  
Her fiancé was making more fuss about the whole deal than she was. Yes, she was a little shaken, but a good night's sleep had done wonders for that. The woman had faced a murderous, immortal being. A thief was small fish in comparison.  
  
Hart was ranting incessantly though. Telling Newman that he should improve his security, telling the police that they had better damn well find the man who'd dared attack his fiancée. Scolding said fiancée for being so careless as to stay here alone.  
  
Finally escaping the questioning, she headed for the sanctuary of her office. Jonathan was hot on her heels. Hart held O'Connell back.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you personally for what you did last night".  
  
"Don't bother", O'Connell replied. He hadn't done it for this guy.  
  
He looked almost distraught, but O'Connell couldn't help but sense that everything about this man was staged and false. "If you hadn't been there then god knows what might have happened to my poor Evelyn".  
  
His Evelyn? Since when?  
  
O'Connell wondered if she knew he thought of her as his property. He mentally shook that thought away though. He wasn't going to resort to telling tales and bad mouthing her fiancé to win her back. Firstly, it was wrong and secondly, it would never work.  
  
"Evelyn's a lot stronger than she looks", O'Connell said, beginning to follow the brother and sister, not wanting to spend anymore time than necessary in this man's company.  
  
"Oh, I understand that", Hart said, falling into step beside him, "But what I don't understand is what exactly you were doing here, alone, late at night, with the woman who is soon to be my wife".  
  
O'Connell glanced casually at him, seeing the man's suspicious hidden behind his geniality. He wasn't stupid, O'Connell had to give him that.  
  
He fixed his eyes on the route ahead, "Just talking".  
  
Hart nodded as they reached the office door.  
  
"Talking. Of course". He patted O'Connell on the shoulders as he reached for the door handle.  
  
"Don't".  
  
"Afraid of the competition?" O'Connell asked quietly as they stepped into the room.  
  
With Evelyn present, Hart had no opportunity to reply. She and Jonathan were chatting worriedly, both agitated. When the two men entered though, both attempted to look normal. As though they weren't really deathly concerned about something.  
  
Hart frowned at their expressions, "Is something wrong?"  
  
Evelyn shook her head hurriedly as she crossed to meet him, "No, nothing. Really...I...I do have a headache though. Could you be a darling and get me a drink?"  
  
She tried to usher him out of the room, but he resisted, "A drink?"  
  
"Yes. Tea would be very nice, thank you".  
  
"Darling", he said, holding her at arms length, stopping her pushing, "Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
She nodded, "Yes, I'm fine. Apart from the headache".  
  
He shook his head, "I was so very worried when I heard about what happened. I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you". He stroked his hand across her cheek, brought her face closer and kissed her, taking a small moment to look at O'Connell's face. The look there was very satisfying. When he broke the embrace, he ran a gentle hand quickly through her hair.  
  
"I'll go and get you your drink. Then you should go home and rest, and tonight I shall take you somewhere very special, so you can forget all about this horrible business".  
  
"That would be nice", she said quietly.  
  
He smiled a left the room.  
  
She turned to face her brother and O'Connell, her cheeks still slightly flushed from the kiss. O'Connell felt horribly jealous but by the look on Evelyn's face they had more important things to be concerned about.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked, not allowing himself time to dwell.  
  
Evelyn and Jonathan looked at each other and O'Connell rolled his eyes, "Please tell me that it doesn't involve curses and tombs and mummies".  
  
Evelyn nodded, "Okay, I won't tell you".  
  
"Of course", Jonathan added, "Then she would be lying".  
  
"It's about the stolen book, right? You think some wacko's going to try and bring forth some great evil with it". He had already said as much to Jonathan the previous night and had expected Evelyn to come to the same conclusion. Obviously Hart had no knowledge of their previous adventures, which was why Evelyn had been so keen to get rid of him.  
  
Evelyn nodded again, "I can't see any other reason why somebody would specifically want that book. In monetary terms there are far more valuable things here".  
  
"Maybe it was for a collector who really wanted it", O'Connell reasoned.  
  
Evelyn rolled her eyes at how ridiculous that sounded, "Who would be mad enough to steal something so unique and then display it?"  
  
O'Connell had to agree with that, "So what do we do then? I'd like to stop this before it gets to the stage with human sacrifices and killer corpses".  
  
"Ditto", said Jonathan from his perch on the desk.  
  
"I shut the book", said Evelyn, decisively, "It will be almost impossible to get it open without damaging it".  
  
"Unless you have the key", Jonathan added.  
  
"Precisely. We must make sure it is safe".  
  
"And who has the key?" O'Connell asked, already preparing himself for battle.  
  
Evelyn shook her head, "I don't know. It wasn't amongst the artefacts retrieved from Hamunaptra, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't taken. Who knows what might have-"?  
  
She stopped abruptly as Hart entered with her tea.  
  
"There you go", he said, handing it to her.  
  
She took it, thanking him. "Now, if all you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do". She sat at the desk and began to write, shooting a meaningful look at Rick and Jonathan.  
  
Taking this as a cue to leave, the three men quietly departed, shutting the door behind them.  
  
"Well, Jonathan, dear boy", Nathan said, trying to be as friendly as possible, "Since your sister seems determined to blow me off again today, fancy a game of poker? I could get a few friends over and make a real occasion of it".  
  
Jonathan had really made an effort to get on with the man, for Evie's sake. It didn't really help that he despised him intently. The sight of him made his skin crawl as though that damned bug was creeping up it again. Unfortunately, if the man was to be his brother-in-law, Jonathan was going to be seeing a lot more of him. Presently, however, he had the perfect excuse to avoid his company, and not being the kind of man to pass up the easiest route, he had no qualms about using it.  
  
"Terribly sorry, Nathan, but I'd already promised O'Connell here a tour of this great city of ours. Maybe next time, huh?"  
  
Nathan turned his attention to the American, "You've never been to London before?"  
  
"No", O'Connell replied tightly, wondering whether the man was actually digging at him or whether it was just his overwhelming desire to find reasons to hate the guy making him paranoid.  
  
Nathan confirmed the former with a smug grin, "Must be quite a shock to you. London is the polar opposite of the breedless vulgarity of the United States".  
  
He smacked O'Connell on the shoulder, laughing at his own wit. For his part, O'Connell glared at the contact but refrained from saying anything.  
  
Jonathan momentarily considered placing himself between the two. Evie would kill him if he let a brawl break out. The look on O'Connell's face was akin to that he had given Imhotep as the creature had taken Evie from them. Nathan somehow seemed to know just how to push up the steam gauge on O'Connell's temperature to dangerous levels, and at this moment he looked about to blow. And since, if he did blow, Jonathan thought it best not to be in his way, he decided stepping into the foray may not be such a good idea after all.  
  
Instead he just laugh nervously, trying to diffuse the situation, "Actually, O'Connell hasn't been back to the Motherland in years, isn't that right? Spent a lot of time in Egypt".  
  
Nathan snorted, "Oh God, that hovel? The whole country is a dirty, smelly, decaying, rotten pit. Why the government insists on meddling in their affairs is beyond me. Leave the place to wallow in its own filth, I say".  
  
"Well, Evelyn seems to quite like it", O'Connell said, testily.  
  
He waved the comment away, "Her time as a daughter and a sister has made her like that. But soon she won't be those anymore. She'll be a wife. And all that silly nonsense will be like a childish game to her".  
  
O'Connell smiled and shook his head, "Gee, you really don't know her at all, do you?"  
  
He turned on his heels and walked off. Jonathan soon scurried up to his side.  
  
"You're right", O'Connell said, tightly.  
  
"What?" Jonathan asked, not seeing his train of thought.  
  
"He really is just...great". 


	8. Plan of Action

Part Eight  
  
Rick and Jonathan took a leisurely sojourn around the museum, checking that Nathan was well and truly gone before heading back to Evelyn. As they expected, she was waiting impatiently for their return.  
  
"Honestly, you boys!" she scolded, "Were you going to leave me waiting here all day? Where have you been? Some bar, no doubt."  
  
"But Evie-" Jonathan began to protest, for once innocent of what she was accusing him of.  
  
She held her hand up, refusing to listen.  
  
"I don't want to know, Jonathan. I really don't. We have far more important things to be dealing with. Retrieving that book must be our first priority."  
  
The two men looked at one another in apprehension. They had both known she was going to say that. What bothered them was a sense of self-preservation. It was less than a year ago they'd last got involved in something like this. Neither of them were in a hurry to dive back into that little scenario.  
  
"Just out of a matter of interest," Rick said carefully, testing the waters, "Why do we have to get involved? We could just let the cops handle it."  
  
He saw the stubborn look on her face and knew what it meant. Trouble, probably.  
  
"Well, I, for one, am not going to stand around while something dreadful happens. Again."  
  
"Who said anything's gonna happen?" Rick protested, "Jumping to conclusions a little there, don't you think?"  
  
"Well, forgive me for being paranoid, but last time that book had a small adventure..."  
  
Rick sighed. She was always right. Why did she always have to be so damn right? And why did he have to get involved with it every time?  
  
"Okay," he conceded, "I see your point. What do we do about it?"  
  
Evelyn moved away from the desk, frowning thoughtfully, "Well, as I see it, our list of suspects is very narrow. Only a few people knew that book was here. There was myself, of course, and Professor Newman, but I believe he's trustworthy. Then there's you boys-"  
  
"And Nathan," Jonathan added.  
  
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, and Nathan. But, more importantly, Mr Carver." Suspicion suddenly tinged her voice.  
  
"And he seemed awfully interested in the book. It is his holy grail."  
  
"Let's go to his place then," Rick said decisively, taking that as a plan of action, "See what we can dig up".  
  
"Break in?" Evelyn said, in disbelief.  
  
Rick smiled leisurely. In some ways, she hadn't changed at all.  
  
"What do you think? He's gonna invite us to go in and look for incriminating evidence against him?"  
  
Evelyn understood that. She still didn't feel right about it though. Determinedly she pushed her reservations aside however. Now was not the time for them.  
  
"Right," she said decisively, "We'll meet back here at eight."  
  
"'We'll'?" Rick enquired, with a raised eyebrow, "What 'we'? There's no 'we', in this. It's definitely just 'me'."  
  
"I'm coming with you."  
  
"No, you are not."  
  
"Oh yes, I am," she stated, simply, "Last time you left me behind I ended up being kissed by a half-rotten, reanimated corpse. I think I'd feel much better going with you, thank you very much."  
  
Jonathan shrugged, "Can't really argue with that logic, old chap."  
  
"Eight o'clock sharp then," Rick said, seeing no way to dissuade her, "I wanna get this over with." 


	9. The Thief

Part Nine  
  
Ardeth Bay had had an unusual feeling as he had set out on his horse that morning, going to survey the ruins of Hamunaptra.  
  
The place was not the threat it once was. Imhotep was buried deep under tonnes of sand, his immortal soul having been ripped from his body and carried to the dark underworld by the chariot of Anubis. Now the Medjai's main concern were robbers. Scientists and explorers he had some degree of tolerance with. With the threat of the curse lifted, he had decided to allow them a little leverage to investigate the city. He understood that the thirst for knowledge was a powerful thing and as long as they restricted it to that, he would not stop them. He had even gone so far as to allow them to remove a few of the treasures that had accidentally surfaced as the sand churned up and the city sank. The Medjai Council of Elders had questioned that decision. Surely it was their duty to protect Hamunaptra's treasures? But, Ardeth had argued, what was available to the scientists was merely a few trinkets compared to the real haul buried in the sand. If the Medjai were to go in, swinging their swords and causing the explorers to flee, they would be sending out the message that there was something to find there, and more people would come. No, it was better to let them scrape the surface and go away satisfied. And, sure enough, after a few weeks the men had left, heading back to Cairo to write their reports, most probably never to return.  
  
Where he drew the line however was at simple grave robbers. Those who would try to loot the city and steal its riches. Every day he would ride out there and survey the area for any potential trouble. It was a settled part of his daily routine. Had been so for years. So why he felt so uneasy about it today he wasn't sure.  
  
At least until he arrived anyway.  
  
A set of hoof prints wound their way through the fallen debris and into the heart of the city. Ardeth knew that they must be fresh for there had been a huge sand storm the night before which would have cleared any old prints away.  
  
Ardeth frowned and let one hand slip to the hilt of his scimitar. It may be just some lost traveller stopping for a rest. Or perhaps it was a scientist come to investigate, although he doubted that as experience had taught him they always travelled in packs. The other option, of course, was a thief, which was the reason he reached for his weapon. They rarely left with gently persuasion.  
  
Trotting his horse forward, he followed the trail, keeping his sharp eyes pierced for trouble.  
  
The tracks stopped where he found a cream-brown Arab stallion milling around by the half-fallen statue of Anubis. Dismounting, he noted that the animal did not have the look of a stray. It was well groomed and the saddlebag it carried looked full. There must be a rider around somewhere.  
  
Stepping closer to the animal, he grabbed hold of its reigns steadying it, finding it to be calm and unbothered by such human contact. Again, it suggested the presence of a rider.  
  
It was a fine, handsome creature, strong and powerful.  
  
"Well, my friend," he said quietly, patting it reassuringly, "Lets see if we can figure out who your master is..."  
  
He carefully undid the leather strap holding the saddlebag shut. Perhaps its contents could give him a clue. His fingers delved inside, swiftly running over the things there. Two canteens of water and a large sheathed dagger. Whoever this person was, they understood the merits of packing light and being prepared when travelling through the desert.  
  
And whoever they were, he realised as he removed his hand, they were standing right behind him.  
  
Ardeth quickly surmised that his assailant was clever. He had crept up behind the Medjai, directly facing the sun so as to cast no shadow which might have given his approach away. It was only Ardeth's highly alert senses that allowed him to detect the presence at all.  
  
He bided his time well, waiting until the other man was in striking distance before he let him know that he was well aware of him. When he struck, it was fierce and firm.  
  
He swung his blade up sharply, knocking the pistol from his assailant's hands. The other man, dressed completely in black, his face masked with only eyes showing, immediately recovered, jumping back and pulling out a large ornate dagger. It was an unusual design, the blade large and slightly curved, fanning out into three claws up its left side. The thief clearly knew how to use it, as he swiped at Ardeth, before quickly dodging the Medjai's return strike with an instinctive agility. Ardeth swung at the smaller man again, almost catching his midriff. The thief back flipped with amazing dexterity, avoiding the next low blow. Ardeth realised that this was a warrior of great skill and would not be easily vanquished.  
  
The thief evaded another series of swipes, moving with lightning speed. Ardeth jabbed at him quickly, making him jump aside and leaving him off balance. The Medjai tried to take advantage of this, but it seemed as if his attacker had banked on him doing just that. As he moved, the thief flicked the blade into the sun, momentarily blinding Ardeth with the light that reflected off of it. Then he kicked out sharply, landed it exactly on his wrist, sending the scimitar he was holding in that hand flying. Ardeth immediately drove at the thief with a cry, knowing that he could not allow him to start swiping at him with that deadly looking dagger. He grabbed the thief's the wrist as he ploughed into him, knocking him to the ground. The thief locked his legs around Ardeth's as he fell, pulling him to the floor with him. Taking the momentary advantage, the thief tried to get up, but Ardeth dove at him again, grabbing him. The momentum of the collision sent the both tumbling down a sandy embankment. Somewhere in the fall, the thief must have dropped his dagger, because when he jumped to his feet and planted himself in a fighter's stance, ready to face the Medjai leader again, he was unarmed. Ardeth was somewhat relieved to see this. The odds were now far more stacked in his favour. He had a definite physical advantage in both height and stature over the other man. He feinted a swing at his face before punching his fist into the thief's midsection, causing him to double over as the wind rushed out of him. Ardeth tried to press on his advantage, but again the thief was up to the challenge. He shoved him back with more force than he would have given someone so small credit for. That was followed by a vicious high kick to his jaw. He reached for chin, taking his fingers away to feel the blood there.  
  
Exhausted in the burning heat, Ardeth and the thief circled each other in a deadly waiting game. It was clear that this was a battle to the death. Without warning, the Medjai swung a punch, which the thief ducked. He went for another high kick, but this time Ardeth blocked with his arm. He grabbed the attacker's leg, meaning to topple him. With another remarkable feat of agility however, the man swung his free leg up, twisting to kick him sharply in the ribs. They both fell to the floor with a heavy thump, spraying up sand, Ardeth clutching at his sore chest.  
  
The thief was on his feet first, heading straight back up to the embankment, going to retrieve the dagger that could be seen sticking up in the sand. Ardeth grabbed hold of him just as the blade was in his hands. He swung the man round, making sure he had a tight grip on the wrist holding the dagger. He used his physical superiority to slam the smaller man into one of the semi-fallen columns of stone, hard enough to rattle his bones.  
  
At last, it made his assailant show some kind of weakness. His eyes widened in pain and he yelped. Not the type of sound Ardeth had expected to hear at all. Frowning, confused, he held the attacker against the wall with his body, using his free hand to tear away the folds of material covering his face.  
  
Make that 'her face'.  
  
Realising with surprise that his attacker was actually a woman, Ardeth loosened his grip slightly, not entirely sure what to do next. Fortunately he noticed the rather glazed look in her eyes and was quick enough to stop her ploughing into the sand as she slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
Frowning more deeply, concerned at how badly he may have hurt her, he knelt beside her prone form and checked her quickly for serious injury. His hands found the stickiness of blood on the upper sleeve of her right arm. Pushing aside the folds of material, he firstly noticed the large gash there. It wasn't a fresh wound, but it was recent and he must have re-opened it during the fight. Her face was unhealthily pale and he surmised that she must have lost a fair amount of blood from that wound. The second thing he noticed was a multiple of bruises in different stages of healing. It looked like she had been involved in a fierce battle. The final thing he noticed was the tattoo in a band around her upper arm. Fairly new, by the looks of it. Part of it was in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. A name and a motto of some sorts. The symbol in the centre, surrounded by a large dark circle was of more immediate interest however. It was the goddess Sekhemet. 


	10. Carver's Office

Part Ten  
  
"I simply cannot believe that we're doing this!" Evelyn whispered urgently, pulling herself through the open window.  
  
Rick rolled his eyes as he reached out to help her down, "Well, it was your idea. And I want you to remember that if and when we get arrested."  
  
"I see you haven't lost that wonderful O'Connell optimism," she grumbled, straightening her blouse and skirt back up, wishing she'd worn some trousers instead.  
  
He simply rolled his eyes at that and turned round to pick up the bag that he had thrown through the window before him. It contained a couple of pistols, his shotgun, a couple of knives and a dagger, as well as a rather large sword.  
  
It seemed a little extreme. As he'd scoped out the place before they'd entered, he'd noticed that there was only one guard and he was fast asleep at the front desk. Even so, he had been around the last time Evelyn and that book had had a little get together. Being well armed was definitely an advantage.  
  
"I'm a realist, sweetheart," he replied, a little distractedly, habit forcing him to look around for any signs of imminent danger.  
  
"Don't call me 'sweetheart'," she scowled.  
  
A thud from behind them interrupted and O'Connell span round, pistols drawn, his heart rate accelerating to twice normal speed. Jonathan held up a hand in apology as he sat in a heap on the floor.  
  
Evelyn rolled her eyes and went to help him up.  
  
"You know, Jonathan," Rick growled, slamming his pistols into their holsters, "For an someone who excels at being a crook, you make a pretty poor criminal."  
  
"We're not criminals," Evelyn insisted, haughtily, "We're investigators."  
  
"Yeah, right," Rick said, with a small laugh, "Just without the tiny matter of permission to be investigating."  
  
"Well, Mr Carver is hardly going to give us permission to go snooping around his things if he is the one who took the book, is he now?" Evelyn reasoned.  
  
Rick nodded, "Fine. But just in case we do end up having to explain why we're here, let me give you a little tip - saying "we're trying to stop the re-resurrection of an evil Egyptian Priest", is not a very good idea. That kind of thing tends to get you carted away to an asylum for the rest of your life."  
  
Evelyn shook her head, refusing to listen to his moaning, "The offices are on the next floor. I think we should check there first."  
  
Rick motioned for her to lead the way but Evelyn immediately hesitated, looking distinctly worried, "I can't go first. What if we run into someone? I wouldn't know what to do."  
  
"Okay," Rick said with a small grin, "Let's do it my way."  
  
He pulled one of his pistols and nodded for the other two to get behind him.  
  
"When I said 'I wouldn't know what to do', I meant what to say to them," Evelyn whispered as she walked closely behind him, "Not whether or not to shoot them."  
  
"Don't worry," Rick said, "This is a tried and trusted method of sneaking around where you're not meant to be."  
  
There was silence for a moment as they reached the base of the stairs and carefully began to go up them.  
  
"How do you know your way around, anyway?" Rick asked, a little curious.  
  
"Carver held a business reception here a few weeks ago," Evelyn explained, her eyes constantly scanning the semi-darkness around them, "Nathan brought me along."  
  
"Oh," was Rick's simple reply. Talk about sore point.  
  
Evelyn thought it best to drop the matter there, but Jonathan seemed to have no such sensitivity in his body. Either that, or he was just totally oblivious to the inflection in Rick's voice.  
  
"Bloody hell," the Englishman said with a chuckle, "Poor old Nathan, eh? Thinks he's getting a nice little homely housewife, when in fact, he's picked up a hardened criminal. He'd better watch the silverware next time you visit."  
  
"I think we can safely say I'll be neglecting to mention this particular little adventure to him," Evelyn said, realising that she hadn't even thought about Nathan in all of this.  
  
"Oh no," Rick said dryly, "Please do. It would be an interesting one to watch."  
  
"Don't even think about it," Evelyn said sharply, seeing the hint of a wicked grin in Rick's eye. She didn't really think he could ever be that malicious but still... She turned to Jonathan, addressing both of them, not wanting Rick to think that it was him she particularly didn't trust.  
  
"And that goes for you too. If Nathan hears a word about this...".  
  
The wedding would be off, Rick thought momentarily before dismissing the idea. It wasn't his style.  
  
"You will not like what I do to the pair of you," Evelyn finished, icily, a warning glare directed straight at Jonathan.  
  
He held up his hands in a 'don't shoot' pose, nodding as a promise.  
  
"You can trust me, old Mum".  
  
Evelyn was sure Jonathan was sometimes one of the last she could put her trust in, but she said nothing, not wanting to hurt his feelings.  
  
There was more silence for a moment as they slipped through one door at the top of the stairs and Evelyn ushered them towards another, down the corridor.  
  
"What does Carver do here anyway?" Rick asked.  
  
"He runs a shipping business," Jonathan replied, keeping close to the armed man, just in case, "Import and export. Done damn well for himself through it. Earned small fortune from what I hear."  
  
"And he'd risk it all by stealing a book?" Rick wondered, surprised.  
  
Jonathan shrugged, "It's his obsession, I guess. It's quite amazing what people will do to obtain their dream."  
  
"Yeah," Rick said dryly, as they went through the door and emerged into another corridor, "Risk their businesses by stealing old books, resurrect ancient dead guys..."  
  
Evelyn glared at him, knowing that was a dig at her. It wasn't her fault. She hadn't realised that the book would do that.  
  
"You are never going to drop that are you?" she said, quietly.  
  
"Well, since we all nearly got killed - no."  
  
"You check the first office," she said to Rick with a sigh, indicating the door to his right, "Jonathan and I will check the ones further down the hall."  
  
"What are we looking for?"  
  
She shrugged, "Preferably the book itself, if not something incriminating."  
  
Rick nodded, seeing the sense in that. "You guys be careful, okay," he warned, giving Evelyn a meaningful look. She did have a horrible tendency to get into trouble.  
  
He pulled his other pistol and held it out to Jonathan, "You'd better take that, just in case."  
  
Jonathan looked at it in dismay.  
  
"Do I have to. Surely that's just going to attract trouble. Can't I just say here and keep watch?" he asked, hopefully.  
  
"Jonathan", Rick and Evelyn said in unison, sharply. They didn't have time for this.  
  
He sighed and took it with an air of resignation.  
  
"Meet back here in five," Rick ordered before carefully slipping into the first room they'd come to.  
  
"Come on," Evelyn said, grabbing Jonathan's arm and pulling him along.  
  
"I should have stayed in the car," he bemoaned, following her down the corridor. Just round the corner, there were two more doors on either side.  
  
"You look in there," Evelyn said, pointing to the right one, "I check the other."  
  
Jonathan shook his head, hurriedly, an expression of forced nobility on his face, "No, I should really stay with you. For safety's sake."  
  
"Would that be my safety or yours?" she enquired, dryly.  
  
Jonathan gave her a sheepish smile and she rolled her eyes, pushing him to the right door, while she went left. Turning the handle, she opened it no more than she needed to quickly slip through and shut it again behind her.  
  
Inside, it was pitch black. She momentarily considered opening the door again to give her a little light, but that would leave her exposed to anyone who happened to be walking past. No, she would just have to find the light in here.  
  
Groping around in the dark, she first checked the walls around her, but found nothing even remotely resembling a light switch. Deciding she needed to go further in, she took a few hesitant steps forward, wishing she'd given herself a chance to get a glance at the layout of the room before she'd closed herself in. At least then she would have some idea whether or not she was about to run into anything painful.  
  
Moving forward a little further, her confidence had begun to return. She tapped her foot in front of herself, finding nothing but carpet. Relaxing a little, she took a few larger paces and immediately banged her hip on what felt like a desk.  
  
Biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain, she found herself holding her breath, afraid that the noise might have alerted someone to her presence. Blissful silence reigned however and she breathed again.  
  
Fumbling out in front of her, she found the top of the desk and it didn't take long for her to locate a small lamp. Flicking the switch, bathed the room in a dim, rather eerie glow, the general darkness of the room accentuated by the mahogany wall panels and furniture. It wasn't a large room, she noted, but it was incredibly tidy. Telling herself that she would therefore have to make extra sure she put everything back in the right place, she briefly wondered when on earth she had learned to think so deviously. The answer was simple however. It was since she had met Rick.  
  
There were two arguments going as to the effect meeting the rough American had had on her life. The first stated that she had deteriorated in manners and attitude. Before him, she never would have had the nerve to do something like she was doing now. In fact, the thought of doing it would never have crossed her mind. The other view however was a little more positive. One could argue that Rick had made her more world wise. Braver and better equipped to look after herself. She may not be the perfect lady she once was, but she was much more self confident and in control.  
  
Evelyn wasn't entirely sure which version of the argument she subscribed to. In public she would probably admit to the first. It was what she should say. But in private? Well, she would hate to go back to being the way she used to be...  
  
Her first port of call was the desk which she searched diligently, even going so far as to look for hidden drawers or panels, a catch which may conceal a secret document. Disappointingly it turned out to be utterly barren as far as clues were concerned. The drawers contained many a folder, but all were filled with material pertaining to the business - invoices, product lists, orders. There was nothing about stolen Ancient Egyptian texts or a document marked 'Secret Plan to Resurrect a Treacherous Priest'.  
  
Next, she checked the filing cabinet but found it to be locked. This, she decided, was a job for Rick. Undoubtedly he would have it open in no time. And where he had acquired that particular skill she simply did not want to know. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a reasonably sized bookcase along the right wall, next to the window.  
  
Evelyn reasoned to herself that bookshelves only held clues in the cheap mystery novels she had taken to secretly reading during periods of relaxation. She had found one in Jonathan's room once and had rolled her eyes to see it. How he could read such rubbish was beyond her. Wondering what the fascination with them could possibly be she had started to read a few pages. Unfortunately it became a few chapters, then a whole book, then a few more books... They were her guilty secret of sorts. Which, she realised was a little depressing. If her 'guilty secret' was reading trashy novels, then it said an awful lot about the dreadfully dull state of her life. Still, things had certainly livened up since Rick had come back...  
  
Feeling a little silly, knowing that there was a large chasm between the worlds of fact and fiction, she began to check the shelf anyway. She tugged randomly on the books, not entirely sure what she expected to find. A secret passage? The mechanism to unlock a safe hidden in the wall panels? Unsurprisingly she found nothing.  
  
Sighing, she took a step back, surveying the shelf as a whole. This approach was getting her nowhere and the longer she stayed here, the higher the chance of her being caught. And she would hate to have to explain to Nathan why he was being called down to the police station to pay her bail.  
  
Wondering whether or not the others had had any greater success, she somehow managed to notice something odd when she wasn't really looking for it.  
  
The second shelf down contained a number of books on Egyptology, most of which she had read and studied several times in great detail. What specifically caught her eye was Barker's Teachings on Hieroglyphics, Volumes One to Five.  
  
Barker's book only had four volumes.  
  
She paused momentarily, almost amazed that she had actually found something, before snatching the fifth book off of the shelf. She hurriedly opened it, hands trembling a little at the realisation that this could be the important clue they were looking for. As it turned out, the book was not a book at all. It was hollowed out inside in the fashion of a box, and sitting in that hollow was a yellowing scroll.  
  
Tossing the book aside, noise be damned, she undid the string holding the scroll shut and unrolled it on the desk, weighing the ends down with an ink pot and a paperweight to prevent it from wrapping itself back up again.  
  
Her trained eyes ran over it quickly. The paper it was written on was old and delicate, the edges rough. The decoration around the perimeter placed it in Ancient Egypt's Middle Kingdom. There was hieroglyphic text written over it. Evelyn ran her finger carefully under the title as she translated it. " 'The Becoming' " she whispered softly, wondering what it could be referring to. A religious event of some sort? The pomp and circumstance surrounding this script certainly suggested something of great importance.  
  
"Yes, that is indeed correct," came a mildly impressed voice from out of the darkness.  
  
She jumped, shrieking, her heart feeling like it had migrated up into her throat. A man stepped out from the shadows by the door, smiling at her fearful reaction. It was the same man who had attacked her at the museum and stolen the book. Well if that wasn't an indication that Carver was involved in the theft...  
  
Evelyn quickly glanced at the area he had appeared from and realised that he must have been hiding there the whole time she was in the room. He would have been concealed behind the door when she had first opened it and even once she had turned the small light on, its glow hadn't spread far enough to give him away.  
  
"You are clever," he said in his thick accent, advancing on her, "For a woman at least."  
  
Forgetting her situation momentarily, Evelyn looked almightily insulted, hands on hips. "What do you mean 'for a woman'? This isn't the dark ages, you know. Just because you barbarians treat women as...as trophies it doesn't mean that that is all they're capable of being. It's attitudes like yours that hold women back."  
  
For a moment there was no reaction from the man and Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. Perhaps angering him wasn't really such an intelligent plan of action. If only she could learn to keep that mouth of hers in check sometimes. She'd probably live a lot longer, that was for sure.  
  
To her surprise - and relief - the man smiled, seemingly amused by her rant, "You have great spirit, woman, but you talk far too much."  
  
"So I've been told," she admitted, voice trembling slightly, backing away from him as he advanced on her.  
  
"But you will not talk about what you have seen here," he promised as Evelyn came to an abrupt stop, bumping into the wall behind her. She had run out of places to go.  
  
And she did not like the implication in what he was saying.  
  
"Well," she reasoned, "That's true really since I didn't actually see anything of importance." She hoped the information would persuade him that there was really no need to kill her.  
  
The man nodded, his smile satisfied and smug, "And nor will you."  
  
Evelyn frowned slightly, not really understanding his meaning. Was that a threat?  
  
Suddenly he whispered something in Ancient Egyptian, speaking too fast for her panicked mind to translate its meaning. As he finished he tossed out some dust. Immediately the lights blinked out and the entire room was plunged into darkness. Helpless, Evelyn tried to grab for the paper, hoping to make an escape with it, but was beaten to it by the man who seemed to be far less hampered by the total darkness than she was.  
  
A crashing sound was heard, the impact of the door smacking into the wooden wall panels next to it as it flew open with some force. It was followed by a familiar clicking of guns.  
  
"Rick," she whispered in relief. Say what you want about the American but he certainly had impeccable timing.  
  
Evelyn realised that whatever the man had done, it had affected all the lights in the building because the open door didn't help her see one bit. That was not going to be conducive to her being rescued. She felt someone grab at her from behind and by the smell she guessed it was the foreign man. He didn't exactly appear to be the most hygienic fellow. He pressed something sharp to her throat and she instantly stopped struggling, almost afraid to breathe in case the blade cut into her.  
  
"I seem to remember us being here before, my friend," the foreign man said, addressing Rick, "And we both that there is only one satisfactory way to resolve this".  
  
She could hear rather than see his satisfied smile. He knew from experience that the American wouldn't do anything that would put her in danger. Taking his advantage, he backed up towards the window, dragging her with him.  
  
"Yeah, well," Rick said, reluctant to let him escape for a second time, "I learn quickly from my mistakes."  
  
"Then it is just as well I have more than one trick," the man said sharply, throwing Evelyn to one side and leaping backwards through the window, shattering the glass.  
  
Okay, Rick conceded, as tricks go that one was pretty unexpected. And painful he guessed. Running to the window, certain that the man would be lying on the floor below in pain or worse, all he saw was shards of shattered glass on the fire escape that had saved the man from falling to his death. And the fleeting, shadowy form of someone disappearing down the alley between this building and the next. Rick let out a few shots with his pistols, knowing he had very little chance of actually hitting the man from this distance in the dark. Still, it made him feel a bit better. At least he had done something.  
  
Jonathan, who had been hiding safely behind Rick during the whole incident, crept in once he was sure the danger had passed and went to see if Evelyn was all right.  
  
"See," he said with mock scolding, "I told you I should have come with you. For your safety, of course."  
  
"Don't worry," she said a little huffily, shaking off his attempts at helping her to stand up, "I'm perfectly fine." She was angry at herself. The man had escaped again, this time with an obviously important clue, and again it was because of her. She was going to have to stop getting herself captured like this. It was severely hampering their work.  
  
Trying to move round the desk, wanting nothing more than to leave this place, go back to her books and see if she could find any reference to 'The Becoming', she immediately banged into the chair behind it. The impact was so hard she almost knocked herself down, saved from the fall by Jonathan's hands grabbing at her.  
  
"Oh for goodness sake!" she exclaimed, again shaking off his fussing hands, "Hasn't one of you has got a lighter?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," Rick said with a frown, wondering what she was going to do next, "What d'you want it for?"  
  
"So I can see," she suggested with an impatient sigh, "I'm far less likely to fall over things in half light than total darkness."  
  
Silence descended on the room. Rick and Jonathan glanced at one another, neither man obviously having any clue as to what was going on.  
  
"Evelyn," Rick said, finally speaking up, shaking his head in confusing, "What are talking about? It is light."  
  
A horrible sick feeling settled heavily over Jonathan's stomach as he came to an awful realisation.  
  
"What...what do you mean?" Evelyn stammered, unable to disguise the sudden panic in her voice. She looked around wildly, trying to see something. Anything. A moving a shadow. The headlights of a car passing outside.  
  
"It's dark. It is dark. Of course, it's dark," she babbled, "It has to be. I can't see anything. It has got be....."  
  
Moonlight.  
  
With the window smashed open the room should be bathed in moonlight. It was a perfectly clear night out tonight. She had commented on the huge full moon as they had driven over here.  
  
"Oh god...," she whispered softly, "Why can't I see anything?"  
  
Jonathan raised a slightly trembling hand and swept it back and forth in front of Evelyn's face.  
  
No reaction. Her eyes didn't follow the movement at all. They didn't even react to the slight change in light as he did so. They just darted around aimlessly, unfocused, desperate to see something. But she couldn't  
  
She was blind. 


	11. That's No Way To Treat A Lady

Author's Note: Less than 24hrs up and I got my first new review. Many thanks. Glad to know people are still reading this too. I will endeavour to continue this as quickly as my picky brain will allow - I tend to spend a LONG time editing after I've written! Part Eleven 

Amira paused at the entrance of the tent as she caught him watching the woman from a respectful distance. She knew that her husband felt a great measure of responsibility for the woman's current condition, even though the healers who had attended her injuries had reported that her wounds appeared to be from some older battle. They were not serious and would heal properly with a few days rest.

He was angry still though, she could see it in his tightness of his face and the frown that just would not leave. He was almost as annoyed as he had been when he had arrived back at the camp with the woman slung over his horse, ranting and raving about having been attacked by a masked thief. Questioning what a woman was doing out there alone. Saying it was her fault for sneaking up on him.

Still Amira knew that it was Ardeth's way to take the blame. He had responsibility. He had duty. Anything which went wrong in this land was obviously his fault. She smiled slightly. Yes, that was exactly what the serious leader in her husband was thinking. Two years of marriage had allowed her to become more than aware of the burden he put upon his shoulders.

"Your gaze will not help her heal," she said quietly, stepping out of the shadows and into the firelight and making her presence known.

Ardeth was not surprised by her arrival. He knew if he did not return to their tent she would seek him out. She may not be quite the traditional wife, but she took good care of him.

He shook his head in shame, turning his gaze back to the woman who had still not regained consciousness, "Then perhaps force of will can."

Amira nodded, knowingly. She took his hand.

"Come," she said, meaning to lead him outside.

Ardeth paused momentarily, not wanting to leave but realising that what his wife had to say was probably worth listening to. She was as wise as she was beautiful - a fact that had first attracted him to her when his uncles had had other women in mind as candidates for his bride. Nodding in acceptance, he allowed her to take him out into the relative coolness of the desert night.

"Don't worry so," she insisted, "She will be fine and blaming yourself for her injuries is of no consequence. I seem to remember you saying she attacked you."

"I should have realised," Ardeth said, with an irritated sigh, "I could have disarmed her without harming her."

Amira raised a curious eyebrow, "You would make allowances because she is a woman?"

"It was neither an honourable nor noble act."

"She is a warrior, Ardeth," Amira reminded him, "Do you think she would hesitate to kill you because you are a man?"

Of course, Ardeth knew what his wife was saying was true. The woman had been an agile and proficient fighter. But still, it went against everything he had ever been taught or had prided himself on to attack a woman in such a way.

"I seem to remember you made such allowances for me once," Amira said with a smile, "I thought you would have learnt from that mistake."

Ardeth smiled for the first time since his return, "I find it hard to believe any woman could be the wild cat you once were."

He unwittingly rubbed the arm which bore the scar of the day he had fallen in love with her. It had been his idea to train the women of their tribe to defend themselves. The sands of Hamunaptra were becoming restless, and it had come to his attention that the men who may be called upon to lay down their lives would be forced to leave their families at home unprotected. The least he could do was see to it that their wives and daughters were able to care for themselves. He had had no idea that he would find such a fierce fighter as Amira. The only woman who had presented a challenge to him. The one who had sliced his arm before he could realise her proficiency. That small glimpse at her spirit had captured him and he had not been able to look upon another woman since.

"'Once were'?", Amira questioned, with a teasing smile, "Do you believe you have tamed me?"

Ardeth shook his head, "I would not dare to presume such a thing. I would be too worried about what retribution you would take."

Amira laughed slightly, "The Medjai leader? Afraid of a simple woman? The men will talk."

"I consider you anything but simple, my love."

"I'd wager that our guest is not either," she said, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

"Well, here is your chance to find out," Ardeth said, motioning towards the attending woman who had left the tent and was heading for them.

"My Lord," she said, bowing her head slightly at Ardeth, "She is awake."

*********************************************************************************

Entering the tent, Ardeth paused slightly, taking in the countenance of the woman who sat up on the bed, protesting the fussing of the second attending woman. It was always advisable to know your enemy.

A fine looking woman, but to his biased eyes she was not the match of his own wife. She reminded him a little of a slightly older and more confident Evelyn Carnahan, although her hair was completely straight and held up in a rough ponytail. She had the look he associated with many a well pampered English noblewoman but with dark, more tanned skin and a more fierce manner. She sat there so tensely he half expected her to dive at his throat.

She returned his gaze, annoyed and mildly interested, but not afraid. Their was an air of confidence about her being that made Ardeth feel slightly uneasy. It was as if she knew something he didn't and was delighting in toying with him.

Eventually she spoke and he realised that her parents must have spent good money on her education to produce such a cut glass English accent.

"You were the one who attacked me."

A little taken back by such a blunt statement, Ardeth frowned sternly, "As I seem to recall, you came up behind me with guns."

"I was protecting myself," she justified, "I saw you with my horse and thought you were a thief."

Ardeth baulked, insulted by the accusation.

"Who are you?", he demanded sharply, "What are you doing here?"

She glared at him, affronted by his abrupt manner.

"I hope you realise that I will not be inclined to say a word if you talk to me like that," she declared, her voice hard, "I am not one of your men nor one of your wives. I do not respond well to commands."

Ardeth shared a look with Amira who simple smiled, apparently amused by the battle of wills she was witnessing. In truth she was his only wife. Whilst their laws allowed it, he could never love another woman the way he did her and so he saw little point in trying to find another. Besides, as he had often teased her, one was quite enough.

"You are on our lands," he said to the woman, tempering his irritation to facilitate their conversation, "And you will answers our questions."

He was certainly not used to be spoken to in such a manner, but he realised that this woman would undoubtedly make his life harder if he lost his temper. It had been a long day and he could very well do without such trouble.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "I will answer your questions because I need your help."

He paused momentarily, she seemed sincere enough and he had no reason not to believe her.

"Go on," he said eventually, sitting opposite her.

"You know, in polite society it is customary to introduce oneself before engaging in conversation," she pointed out.

"I also believe that in polite society it is not customary to greet someone at gun point either,"  he countered dryly.

She nodded slightly, conceding the point.

"My name is Eliana Cartwright."

"Ardeth Bay," he introduced, "And this is my wife Amira." A wave of his had invited her to join them. Even though he knew she preferred to sit in the background and listen unnoticed, he valued her council too greatly to not have her involved.

"My parents were Egyptologists, based for many years at Thebes and Abydos," she began without ceremony, "A few months ago they returned to Cairo for reasons they wouldn't explain to me. Weeks later they disappeared.  I was told that they were last seen heading out into the desert."

"So you decided to look for them?" Amira questioned, "How did you ever hope to find them?"

"I know my parents," she explained simply, "Besides, what else should I have done? Waited and hoped they'd return?"

"It was a foolish thing to do," Ardeth insisted, "There was little chance you would find them and it is not safe for a woman to travel alone in this desert."

"Nor in groups it seems," she said stonily, ignoring what she considered his arrogance in the interest of continuing her story. "I was travelling in the desert, two days from Fort Brydon when I came across a group of women being attacked by men on horse back. At first I thought they were the fierce Medjai I had heard about, protecting their temples and treasure."

Amira saw Ardeth's fists clench at the accusation and she gently placed her hand on his to calm his spirit. She knew he was insulted but for now he should just forbear. 

"But when I got closer they appeared to be hired thugs, sent to kill. I intervened but managed to save  only one of the women, getting a battering for my troubles in the process. I assume I passed out because the next thing I recall is waking at an oasis. The woman was apparently long gone having left me with a few souvenirs. Namely this."

She dropped the Bedouin dress she had been fitted with off of her shoulders just to reveal the tattoo Ardeth had been earlier.

"And this note."

She pulled a folded piece of paper from under the pillow where she had hidden it and handed it across to him. Ardeth unfolded the delicate paper carefully and read the words inscribed in a black charcoal material.

'We, the Guardians of Sekhmet, protectors of the land of Egypt thank you for your courage and ask for your forgiveness. For by helping us you have forced me to lay upon you a burden I am no longer able to bear. I, Malika, appointed leader of our people pass this duty on to you of our spirit. You owe us nothing, but know this: what was stolen from the tombs we protect must not reach the City of the Dead. If it should the sky shall be ruled by evil and greed. The race of men will fall before His feet in an sandstorm of heat and blood. For he who controls Him, controls the world.'

Ardeth was more than a little surprised. The Guardians of Sekhmet were a group even more elusive than the Medjai. They were the females descended from Sekhmet's priestesses, of a blood line more ancient than the pyramids themselves. A bloodline that, if accounts were to be believed, stemmed back beyond the time of the Old Kingdom to when Egypt was still in its infancy. They had long been charged with the protection of Egypt from the dark magicks, and conflicting reports either had them extinct centuries ago or still guarding the lost cities, burial chambers and temples.

Ardeth looked up at her, purposely keeping his demeanour calm, "And so you came?"

"There is no need to sound so surprised," she said, offended by the tone he had taken. She rubbed her arm and grumbled.

"I could have lived without the damn tattoo though."

"How could you be so sure the note was true?" he asked curiously, feeling that she was still concealing something.

Eliana reached inside her dress a pulled out a golden chain she was wearing. On it hung a pendent matching the tattoo she now bore. The eyes of the lion headed goddess glittered in the dancing firelight. They were gems - a ruby and an emerald.

"She also left me this," she explained, darkly, "It was my mother's. And I would like to know how she got it. I knew the Medjai protect Hamunuptra and so I came here, seeking your help."

"And tell me, was I meant to help you before or after you shot me?" he enquired dryly.

"I wouldn't have killed you," she said, annoyed at his unprofessional manner. Although whether 'desert guardian' was technically a profession or not, she wasn't sure.

"And if it hadn't have been for your 'slash-first-ask-questions-later policy we'd have gotten off on a much better footing," she added.

He let it go, having the distinct feeling there was no point in getting into a further debate with this woman. She was emotional, clearly concerned about her parents and would not easily back down.

"And what made you think we would help you?" he continued evasively. It was not like the Medjai to broadcast their activities or purpose. It made him wonder where she had gotten her information.

She smiled slightly, the first he could remember seeing on her face, "Because you are the Medjai, and it is your duty to protect this land."

Still he refused to acknowledge her claims, "And from where did you hear such a report?

"Rick O'Connell," she said, finally playing her trump card which she knew would shock him, "I believe you know him rather well."


	12. Jonathan's Moment

Author's Note: Just to shock my new reviewers here's another quick update! Helped a lot that I had had a rough version of this chapter written for quite some time. I'm afraid things will be slower going from here on in, but I promise to make them good!  
  
Part Twelve  
  
Jonathan glanced up from the book in front of him, taking just a moment's rest. It was the first time he'd stopped working since they'd arrived at the museum library several hours ago. He rubbed at his sore and tired eyes, glancing longingly at the brandy decanter before deciding that that was probably a bad idea and turning to pour a glass of water from the pitcher instead. Doing so, he caught sight of the reason he was working so hard, and his heart became leaden once more.  
  
Evelyn lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep. She wasn't the least bit tired and Jonathan guessed that she couldn't sleep even if she was.  
  
Closing her eyes seemed to help a great deal though. Her mind could cope with the concept of her eyes being closed and seeing nothing. That was normal. Having them open however confused and scared her. Feeling the air on her eyes, knowing that there was light pouring into them while all she saw was darkness, was more than simply unnerving. It terrified her. Right to the core that Imhotep had made scream as he raised his knife to kill her. It was a deep, intense, mortal dread. What if she never got her sight back again? Reading books and research was her life. And as she dimly recalled telling Rick that night in Hamunuptra, she was proud of who she was - she was a librarian. If she could no longer be that, then who could she be?  
  
And what would Nathan say? Would he call the wedding off? She could never tell him what really happened because firstly he would never believe her and secondly he would blame Rick or Jonathan, when it had really been her fault for being so darn careless. She should have checked behind that door.  
  
Her one hope was Jonathan. Ironic really, considering how just earlier she had been thinking that her brother was the last person she could usually trust. Oh, he adored her no doubt, but he was just not dependable enough to be considered trustworthy. But her attacker had used some kind of incantation on her, and she knew from her research that nearly every spell had an antidote of sorts. Something which could reverse its effects. She just had to pray that that was case here too. And that Jonathan could remember enough of his studies to be able to find it.  
  
Jonathan felt the weight of the task placed upon him as he rubbed his aching temples. When Evelyn had suggested it he was glad she couldn't see the horrified look on his face. The only thoughts that ran through his mind were negative ones. He couldn't possibly do it. He simply didn't have the means within him.  
  
But one look at her trembling form, a face on the verge of tears and he knew that he had no choice but to accept the challenge. By nature, Jonathan wasn't a hero. If he did anything for the well being or benefit of others, it was generally by accident. The tag just didn't fit him well.  
  
Now O'Connell, there was a heroic chap. He had the manner and looks for it. It was what he was built to do. But, while O'Connell sat in a chair doing something Jonathan never expected to see him do - researching diligently in a book - he realised that the American could only be so much help this time. He couldn't read Ancient Egyptian. Much of what he was looking at was illegible to him. Jonathan knew if anyone was going to find a cure for his sister, it would have to be him.  
  
The irony of it all was that since they were young, Evie had always been the one looking after him. Although he was a good few years her senior she was the sensible, mature one. She thought ahead, considering the consequences of her actions. Jonathan did what pleased him, when it pleased him and damned the consequences. Or at least drunk enough until he forgot about them.  
  
It had hit him recently, with the notion that he was going to be the one to give her away at her wedding, that he had never really done anything for her. She had steadied him, held him just clear of falling into total disrepute. All he had really done was be a burden to her - using her good name to flog the trinkets he found, relying on her to drag him to his bed when he staggered home drunk and bemoaning how the night had made him a poorer man. Now, at last, when he could finally do something in return, he was dreadfully afraid that he was going to completely stuff it up. Everything he touched seemed to decimate beneath his fingers, why should this be any different?  
  
He knew he had to do this though, for his own sake as much as hers. Who would be there to look after him if she was incapable? What would happen to him? And how on earth would he ever manage to take care of his baby sister – he had no idea how to do it.  
  
The research was a struggle though. Translations that should come as second nature to him were a real chore. References that he should understand with ease, confounded him. He was having to work harder than he had done in fifteen years. But, by God, was he going to do it. It broke his heart to see his strong, stubborn sister in such a state of disarray. He knew what her work meant to her. It was her life and his she was forced to give it up in this way...  
  
Jonathan set a determined scowl on his face, hoping it would somehow help him to work harder, and re-doubled his efforts in concentration. He was not going to be beaten by this without a fight.  
  
To hell with that - he wasn't going to be beaten full stop.  
  
A good hour later however, he was frustrated and concerned. He didn't want to have to admit it, but this was just too hard. He really couldn't do it. He wasn't clever enough. They'd just have to find someone else.  
  
So convinced was he of his inevitable failure that he didn't actually believe he had made the break through when it finally came. Taking a long second look at his translation of the passage however, checking it against the hieroglyphic dictionary that had rapidly become his new best friend, he realised that he had indeed found what he was looking for.  
  
"I think I have it," he said tentatively.  
  
He was the first of them to speak in a number of hours and his voice sounded horribly loud in the large room. While he wanted to whisper in an uncertain manner, it boomed out all around them, somehow giving him a ring of confidence which he certainly didn't possess.  
  
"What's it say?" Rick asked, tossing his own book aside with relief on his face. Although whether that stemmed from thankfulness that they had found a cure or relief that he could stop reading, Jonathan couldn't be certain.  
  
"Well, it talks about the 'Blindness of the Sands'", Jonathan said, checking the notes he had made, squinting at his own terrible handwriting, "Apparently it was used by the pharaohs to punish men who looked upon their wives or daughters with lustful eyes."  
  
"Great," Rick said dismissively, really not interested in the background, "How do we get rid of it?"  
  
"Er...," Jonathan stalled, reading the ancient text and translating it as quickly as he could, "We must read this inscription twice and scatter some desert sand. It all appears relatively simple."  
  
"Desert sand?" Rick asked in dismay, "Where are we going to get that from?"  
  
"The store downstairs," Evelyn said, unnaturally quiet.  
  
Both men immediately turned to look at her. In truth they had somehow blocked her presence out of their minds. While, of course, they were working to help her, they were speaking as if she was out of the room. It was easier that way. Neither of them knew what to say. No words they could think of could possibly comfort her.  
  
"Professor Newman had some brought in," she went on to explain, taking their silence as one of confusion, "For authenticity's sake."  
  
"Right then," Jonathan said, standing up to move. Rick immediately put a large hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.  
  
"I'll go," he said, "You work on that stuff. Make sure you get it right."  
  
Jonathan could decipher from O'Connell's stern tone that the man had serious reservations about his ability to do something without making a hash of it. Not that Jonathan could really blame him. He hardly had a reputation for reliability.  
  
Jonathan read through the inscription quickly. The hours that he had spent working had seemed to have eventually sharpened his foggy mind and reassert his dwindling knowledge. Some symbols he had a little trouble with but he worked them out himself. Usually he would have asked Evie, but right now it would be simply rubbing salt into a very sore wound to have to describe the symbols to her.  
  
"Well," he said to himself more than anyone, "That all appears to be pretty self explanatory."  
  
"Are you sure?" Evie piped up from her corner of the room.  
  
Jonathan glanced up to see the concerned expression on her face. Evidently she was just as concerned about his ability as Rick was. Not that Jonathan could blame her. Still, it was a horribly sobering thought that even his own sister didn't trust him.  
  
"Because," she added, trying to keep the tone light but not quite succeeding, "I'd hate to end up with a plague of boils or something by accident."  
  
"Trust me, Evie," he said quietly, "You won't. I promise."  
  
Not that, he realised, his promises ever meant very much; 'I promise I won't get drunk tonight', 'I'll promise I'll be back by eleven', 'I promise I'll invest that money sensibly'. Yes, all prime examples of how much his promises meant. They were as wobbly as a proverbial drunken sailor.  
  
Rick returned quickly, a little out of breath, obviously having run there and back as if time was of paramount importance.  
  
"Got it," he said, handing a jar of sand to Jonathan who took it as though he was afraid a sudden movement might cause it to shatter.  
  
"Right," he said, voice trembling slightly, betraying his nervousness, "Er...O'Connell, you'd better take this."  
  
He handed him the sand straight back, not really trusting himself with it.  
  
"As soon as I've finished the incantation you have to toss some into the air. Make sure some lands on Evie." He then crossed over to his sister, taking her by the shoulders and manoeuvring her carefully into position.  
  
"You just stand here, Evie."  
  
Crossing back to the desk, he picked up the book with a deep, calming breath. O'Connell touched him on the shoulder.  
  
"Now you're sure you can do this, right?"  
  
Jonathan shook his head, "But rather sadly, old boy, I'm our best shot. A bit of a downer really since I crumble under pressure. I crumble quite well without pressure too."  
  
"You can do it, Jonathan," Evie said, smiling slightly, "I trust you."  
  
Jonathan sighed deeply. Why did she have to say that? How was he going to feel now when he let her down?  
  
He cleared his throat thoroughly before beginning the incantation.  
  
"Enut seepa, itwy. Neetna simuey. Kutash phetum tae."  
  
As Jonathan read, the words somehow seemed to flow through him like a spring, carving their own path, leaving him with no control over them. They imbued him with the power and spirit of the ancient era. His voice filled with strength and meaning as if the mere act of saying the words transformed his soul into that of an ancient Egyptian priest.  
  
He repeated the word again seemingly heading to some sort of crescendo. As he finished he nodded at Rick who threw the sand in the air, it settling over them in a cloud that took a few moments to dissipate.  
  
When Jonathan finally dared to look at Evelyn it was with trepidation. She stood there with her eyes closed, a natural reaction to the sand that had been flung in her direction.  
  
The time she took to opened them were the longest moments of Jonathan's life.  
  
Then Evie's face turned in his direction, her eyes meeting his. And she smiled.  
  
The next thing he knew her arms where slung around his neck, hugging him for all she was worth. Jonathan was so shocked he could barely hug her back.  
  
"I knew you could do it," Evelyn whispered, her voice tainted with tears of relief, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."  
  
Jonathan finally recovered from his shock and tightened his arms around his small sister, wondering if she knew how much that meant to him.  
  
"It had to happen some time, Evie," he said quietly.  
  
Next to them Rick put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.  
  
"Well done," he said, a broad smile plastered on his face. 


End file.
